Horrified, he searched through the damage. As he inspected shelf after shelf of scorched knowledge a peculiar feeling flitting at the edge of his mind. An essence of something inherently evil.
He turned to face the Kraidic emperor looking like he’d just seen a ghost.
He had felt this particular presence once before—the time he and Melody had walked through Wizard’s Gibbet.
Melody reread the ancient passage written in runes. The brittle tome lay open on the table closest to the scrying bowl. She heard the tower door banging open far below. Silurian and Karvus must be coming back up. They would be a while. She couldn’t imagine climbing those stairs again.
She smiled at a fond memory. Her and Silurian, accompanied by the rapscallion Prince Malcolm, climbing those stairs on a daily basis. Sometimes to daydream from the central balcony and sometimes to test the ward’s the grumpy old wizard had set to warn him of such an incursion. Life had been enjoyable back then. Before Helleden came.
Her smile faded. She stared hard at the ancient text, trying to make sense out of what she read. According to Phazarus, she demonstrated an astonishing grasp of the runic language, far superior to anyone living, and yet, she struggled with several runes in this book.
Someone had read this tome recently. The only person she believed possessed that ability would be Helleden. If only she could decipher the meaning of the runes in question. What was the sorcerer searching for?
One series of runes in particular gave her trouble. She couldn’t recall seeing them before. She tried to fathom their meaning by the context of the sentence: Invoking the Summoning Stone, a dark magic shall emerge. Heed this warning most severely: know what hell you seek to unleash. If you prove unworthy to control the…you will be consumed. Control the…what? She knew the runic words for magic, spell, and every other set of symbols pertaining to magic.
“The summoning stone?” she said aloud. “Summoning stone? What is he planning on summoning?”
She fleetingly registered the fact she should hear the clunking of Karvus’ boots, but didn’t want to lose the idea forming on the edge of her thoughts. She was so close to grasping the significance of the word eluding her.
She inhaled heavily and exhaled a long cleansing breath. “Think, Mel, think.”
She read the next line again and suddenly the meaning became crystal clear. Her eyes widened with comprehension. Her breath caught in her chest. If Helleden was successful, Zephyr was doomed.
The chamber door squeaked on its hinges. She turned to warn Silurian about her terrifying discovery. “Sil, you won’t believe what—”
Her words ended in a scream.
Descending into Darkness
Alhena sat back to enjoy the warmth of the flames. A large animal cooked upon a spit, partially eaten. Olmar lay quiet beside the fire, finally able to sleep after the trauma inflicted on his body. Alhena’s healing spell, however painful the administration had been, certainly eased Olmar’s pain. It had been a long day.
Rook’s death had hit Alhena harder than most, but his belief that the fate of Zephyr hinged on the bowman’s survival made his death much more profound. If their group had any thought of confronting Helleden, Rook’s death had curtailed that plan. The only way he foresaw them having even the remotest chance of success was with Melody’s help.
He swallowed hard. How could he tell her of Rook’s death? The news would crush her. He shook the thought from his mind. He had more immediate concerns to deal with.
Larina sat protectively beside Olmar, conversing quietly with Sadyra while Pollard paced around, unable to settle. Sensing Pollard blamed himself for Rook’s death, Alhena gathered whatever strength he had left and went to speak with him.
How Pollard hung onto that colossal sword of his throughout the evening and into the night amazed Alhena. The weapon looked like it weighed half as much as Sadyra.
Pollard glared at his approach but he knew the man’s angst wasn’t directed at him.
“Come on, big guy, you need to eat. Sadyra got us a nice goat. It will do you good.”
Pollard made to step around him, but Alhena placed his free hand on Pollard’s forearm and held on. The look he received would have curdled many people’s blood but Alhena wasn’t an ordinary person.
Pollard’s glare made him appear as if he meant to eat Alhena but the wizard didn’t shy away. “You are little use to us hungry and weak.”
Pollard’s upper lip lifted in a snarl.
Alhena braced himself for an angry retort but Pollard simply pulled his arm from Alhena’s bony fingers and made his way to the fire. He threw his sword to the ground and sat heavily in the dirt.
Sadyra and Larina looked at each other and then to Alhena. It was out of character for Pollard to treat his weapon so. He was a man of strong values; respect for his equipment foremost amongst them. There hadn’t been a night that Pollard didn’t tend to his sword and dagger or check the harnesses and straps and belts holding his gear in place. Oft times before settling in for the night he could be seen polishing the heavy brass cuirass he wore with such pride—the chest armour had been his father’s and his grandfather’s before that.
Sadyra started toward Pollard but Alhena shook his head at her. Sadyra nodded and turned away.
Alhena reached down to retrieve Pollard’s sword, almost pulling his back out in the process.
“That thing weighs more than me,” he exaggerated.
Pollard spared him a quick glance and grunted.
Alhena abandoned any thought of cleaning the sword and let it be. He gathered up the bulk of his robes and sat on the ground beside Pollard.
The smell of singed goat meat made his mouth water. He motioned with his chin. “Eat.”
The crackling fire and gusts of wind howling over the sheltered hollow were the only sounds disturbing the encampment. Finally, Pollard’s armour creaked as he leaned forward to cut off a slab of meat—oblivious or not caring about the heat of the flames.
Alhena waited until Pollard half finished. “Good, huh?”
Pollard didn’t respond, nor did Alhena expect him to.
“I know this means nothing right now, but you cannot blame yourself…nor anyone else, for that matter. We cannot know the movements of Helleden’s forces.”
Pollard stopped chewing and stared at the flames, his dour face set in stone.
“As the wizard of this group, I should have detected their presence. They were hidden to me by the distances involved with that damned bridge and the rock formations and wind and many other things I cannot explain to someone not fluent in the use of magic.”
Pollard glowered. He shoved the rest of the meat into his mouth and stared into the fire.
“The point is, we do not know when our time will come. The best we can hope to do is embrace it with courage. Rook did that. He did what he thought was right. For you, me and the rest of us. He embraced his death so that we might live. I am certain he had not meant to die on the bridge, especially after learning of his wife. We must find a way through our grief and draw strength from his actions. When he realized his fate, he did not lie down and give up. He paid the ultimate price to save those he loved.”
Alhena had no idea whether Pollard listened. He swallowed, trying hard to keep his voice from cracking, “You know what saddens me more than anything else? I took his wife from him. I did what I believed needed to be done to save her, but who am I to decide their fate. Rook sacrificed himself for us and for what? I had already stolen his life from him. Looking back now that he is gone, I am not certain I did the right thing.”
Alhena hung his head, unable to say more.
Pollard’s glare softened. After a while, he placed a huge hand on Alhena’s shoulder.
Together they stared at the flames.
“Och, lassie, if you don’t stop cluckin’, you’re to be killin’ me soon enough.”
Olmar attempted to get to his feet with Larina standing over him, one hand on her hip and the other wagging a fin
ger.
“If you don’t get a brain in that thick head, I’ll throw you back over the cliff,” Larina scolded. “Stay where you are and let me get some food into you.”
Olmar glanced at Sadyra, pleading with his eyes for help.
Sadyra laughed. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who decided to go for a swing.”
His thick eyebrows knitted together.
“Now lay back and be quiet or I’ll stamp on your shoulder,” Larina ordered and retrieved a blackened bowl from the edge of the fire. She pulled a wooden spoon from her pack and set about feeding him.
Sadyra looked up the trail to where Pollard had disappeared. Though last night had been tough, his time with Alhena seemed to have done him good. He’d gotten up earlier than everyone else and rekindled the fire. She had joined him for a bite to eat before he insisted on scouting the trail.
Alhena awoke and informed everyone he didn’t want Olmar moving until the sailor satisfied him the knock to his head wasn’t as serious as the purple welt suggested.
Sadyra scoffed, “If anything, it knocked sense into him.”
By high sun, at least by Sadyra’s reckoning as the sky lay heavy with grey storm clouds, Alhena cleared Olmar to travel.
Sadyra and Pollard walked ahead of the other three in silence. She smiled listening to Larina.
“Aye, tis a good thing it was your head that hit first. Ain’t nothing to bother up there.”
Sadyra glanced at Pollard’s somber face. If he’d heard Larina’s remark it hadn’t amused him. She reached out and placed her tiny hand in his big mitt, wrapping her fingers around his index finger and gave it a squeeze.
She felt a gentle pressure as he pressed his thumb against her hand. She desperately wanted to take his hurt away—the hurt they were all experiencing, but him especially. Rook would be sorely missed.
She wasn’t sure any of them, other than perhaps Alhena, had the strength to move forward after such a loss. She had idolized the leader of the Group of Five. Sure, his prowess with a bow was unequalled, but it was the way he led others with a quiet and firm guidance that she would miss the most. Rook possessed the rare gift to lead by example. He commanded respect through actions, not through words or title; though he had been known to instil inspiration in others by speaking candidly with them if the situation called for it.
Pollard reminded her of Rook in many ways. Strong, silent, and a pleasure to be around. Never boastful, though with his size, chiselled body and natural good looks, Pollard could certainly have been a conceited person and people would still gravitate toward him.
She wasn’t most people, nor was Pollard ostentatious. Over the last few weeks she’d opened up to him more than she thought herself capable of with another person. Her upbringing had ingrained an inherent mistrust of people when it came to her private feelings.
To her close friends she was open, loving and dedicated, but she had locked her heart away a long time ago with the intention of never letting it shatter again. Fighting alongside Pollard and living close to him through trying circumstances allowed her to realize that perhaps there was someone in the world, other than Larina and her remaining sister, that she could bare her heart to.
Seeing Pollard this upset unsettled her—the deep feelings knotting her stomach unusual. She sensed Pollard slipping away—descending into a darkness she wasn’t sure she could bring him back from.
She patted his hand and tugged on his arm, noting the scratches suffered by the skeleton in the Crypt were healing nicely. She flashed a sweet smile when he looked at her. To his credit, he forced a quick smile before returning his distant gaze to the trail ahead.
He had smiled for her benefit. She found it difficult not to unleash the tears threatening to flow. She had to be strong. For him. If she lost him, she didn’t think she had it in her to carry on.
“If you feel like talking,” she said quietly and left it at that.
He surprised her when he spoke. “There’s nothing to say. Good men are dying all around me and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.
“You are too hard on yourself. I can recall a battle in the Under Realm in which you held off the entire minion horde to give Silurian time to do what he needed to do.”
“Fat lot of good that did him,” he mumbled.
“What about the Sentinel in the Chamber of the Wise? It was you who took the beast down.”
“After it killed King Malcolm.”
Sadyra swallowed the lump in her throat. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry.
“What about back on the bridge? If not for you and Olmar we’d never have made it across.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew what his response would be.
“Aye, and because I ran, Rook died. That should’ve been me out there.”
She yanked hard on his thumb and stopped walking.
He tried to pull free but she wouldn’t let go. “Ow! What the—”
She released his thumb and glared up at him, a storm in her grey eyes. “Don’t you ever say something stupid like that again. We all ran away. We had no choice.”
She was aware of Olmar, Larina and Alhena stopping behind them and watching, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to lose her man to the darkness without a fight. “Do you think I wanted to leave him out there?”
He tried to respond but she cut him off. “How about Larina? Do you doubt her courage? Or Pops?”
“No, but—”
“But what? We did what we had to do to save our lives. Rook died because he happened to be the rear guard. How many times have you, or I, or any of us assumed that position, knowing full well that in order to get at the rest of us, the enemy would have to kill us first? I’ll tell you how many…” She became flustered. “Lots of times, that’s how many.”
She crossed her arms and looked away, embarrassed at her outburst. Screaming at the man she loved wasn’t the best way to bring him out of the funk he’d fallen into, but her adrenaline raged. She fought like hell to quell it before she said something she’d regret.
Tears spilled down her cheeks which made her even more furious. She wiped her nose on her tunic, grabbed both of Pollard’s hands and stared up him, his handsome face blurred by her watery eyes. “I say this because I love you. Ya,” she faked a laugh, “a funny way to show it, I know, but I fear where your mind is at and I’m afraid I’m going to lose you. If you’re descending into darkness, please take me with you.”
The Ultimate Weapon
Silurian’s blood ran cold as he shouldered the lower stairwell door open and heard Melody scream. His premonition in the catacombs had proven prophetic. Something was up in the tower with her. He took the stairs two at a time with Karvus on his heels.
A detonation rocked the tower causing him to stumble and almost fall into the shaft between the spiralling staircase. Karvus grabbed his tunic, pulling him back. Silurian didn’t acknowledge the help, his mind focused on who the newcomer might be. Had the tower shaken because of Melody, or had Helleden returned?
Looking up, he was disheartened to see how far they still had to climb. They weren’t even close to the central balcony and already the strength in his legs waned. He put his head down and powered past the balcony, his leg muscles and chest screaming at him to stop and rest.
Karvus remained right behind him, the Kraidic warrior seemingly not struggling as much. Silurian would’ve gladly stopped to allow the man past him if there was a chance Karvus could get up there faster, but the narrow steps prevented it.
Reaching the top, he pulled his sword from over his back and fell against the door jamb unable to breathe or take another step; barely able to hang onto the blade—his mouth so dry he couldn’t even curse at the cloaked wraith facing off with Melody.
Flames licked at a large table along the wall near the door—scrolls and a small tome burned in separate piles. Thankfully, Melody appeared unhurt but her face was covered in soot. She circled the ce
ntral pedestal containing the brass bowl, her eyes never leaving the grey-skinned demon hissing at her.
Her staff pulsed orange and the wraith ducked beneath its cloak. A fireball took it full on, sending it crashing against a wooden table. Candles and parchment flew into the air, the paper bursting into flames.
The tower shook more than it should have.
Tables rattled their contents to the floor. The chamber trembled and the eight translucent windowpanes turned briefly opaque. Silurian thought the Wizard’s Spike was about to fall.
Melody cried out, “Get down!” and jumped sideways, dropping into a roll. A static charge coalesced rapidly around each of the windowpanes and blasted the spot she had just vacated.
The demon screeched in the ensuing chaos and rushed her.
Silurian lifted his sword and started toward her but there was no way he could reach her in time.
She rolled to a sitting position, holding her staff out before her. Its tip flared blue as the demon launched itself through the air.
“Aleam glacius!” Melody’s staff flashed, discharging a blue pulse. It intercepted the wraith and froze it solid, but the demon’s trajectory had it on a collision course with her.
A whirling battle-axe whistled across the chamber, catching the demon in mid-flight. It exploded into several dismembered chunks of ice, pelting the tables and windows around Melody but she escaped being hit.
The chamber trembled. The windowpanes turned opaque again.
“Get down!” Melody faked one way and jumped another—a pulse of static electricity surged from each window to the spot she had faked toward, blasting a chunk of the shattered wraith.
Melody hung onto the side of an overturned table and stared with haunted eyes at Silurian and Karvus who got up from their knees. She forced a smile for their benefit. “It should be safe now.”
Into the Madness Page 22
