by E. G. Foley
Ramona nodded sympathetically. In truth, the poor wizard looked like he’d aged five years since the moment earlier this evening, when Wyvern’s trickery had led Peter to accuse his own beloved wife, Jillian, of being the traitor in their midst.
Everyone knew he doted on his “Jilly-bean.” Wyvern must have also realized that Peter’s love for his non-magical wife might be his Achilles’ heel. He’d managed to deceive him.
Peter had broken Jillian’s heart and his own earlier tonight with his furious accusations, mistaking her for the traitor—before discovering that the real Judas among them was Badgerton.
Unfortunately, his leadership role as the youngest of the Elders required Peter to keep a stiff upper lip in this moment of personal crisis and see to his duty instead of his marriage.
The weary wizard gave Janos an appreciative clap on the shoulder. “Just keep an eye on those blackguards for us for now, would you? I think we all need to take a breath here. But if you see them preparing to return for a second strike, alert us at once.”
“As you wish.” Janos nodded, then pivoted and walked away, turning first into a man-sized column of black smoke before flapping up into the skies again in the form of a bat.
He screeched to Balinor’s owl to follow him, recruiting the bird to help with sentry duty. The owl swooped away after him to assist in keeping watch on the Dark Druids from the skies.
“Handy fellow to have around,” Peter said, capable of only a halfhearted quip at the moment, as he watched Janos disappear into the night.
Ramona nodded but said nothing. Her mind was already churning.
There was no time to lose.
She took leave of Peter and marched inside, bypassing the chaos teeming in the halls and the lobby.
The healers swirled about, assisting the wounded. A she-elf asked Ramona if she needed medical attention. The Elder witch waved her off and hurried on, crossing to the stately marble staircase that led up from the entrance hall.
On the way, Ramona noticed that many of the grand chambers on the ground floor had been sacked. The ballroom, some of the parlors, even the enchanted art gallery.
It only increased her rage. By the Blessed Isles, if Zolond was behind this attack, she would never forgive him.
Or herself.
Everywhere, civilians still cowered. Frantic people flocked around the Elder witch, seeking reassurance, and tried to tell her what they’d seen. But Ramona brushed them off with a few empty platitudes on her way to the stairs. She had no comfort to give them at the moment.
Not now.
First, she needed answers.
Heading for her chamber, she was relieved to see that at least the Noxu hadn’t made it this far into the palace. But with every step, her anger grew. Guilt soon joined it.
How could I not have seen this coming?
Had her secret dealings with Zolond—and more importantly, their past relationship—blinded her to the threat?
In recent months, the Elder witch had been engaged in private, unofficial peace negotiations with the Dark Master, both of them (supposedly!) trying to prevent a full-out magical war that so many on both sides sensed coming.
Though Ramona had remained sensibly wary of her old flame, she had eventually come to believe he was negotiating in good faith. Zolond claimed he was too old and world-weary to bother launching some terrible new war. He was one of the few still alive who, like her, remembered just how horrific total war between wizards and warlocks actually was. He was comfortable with the way things had been for so long: good and evil more or less balanced in the world. So he’d said.
The question was, had he duped her?
Or was there more to all this than met the eye?
The possibility that her once-beloved Geoffrey de Lacey might’ve betrayed her all over again—just like when they were young—struck like a knife in her heart.
As she marched down the hallway, Ramona swore that if he had deceived her, if he had been manipulating her all this time, merely keeping the Elder witch distracted while he plotted tonight’s treachery, she would destroy him.
So what if it meant ending her own life as well?
She’d been ready to die for at least a hundred years. Three centuries was far too long for any sensible person to live. But he had done this to her.
To both of them.
Centuries ago, in the Renaissance age, as two young fools in their teens, both highly gifted in magic, they had pledged to be together for all time, joining their fates forever through the fearsome Montague and Capulet spell.
As much as she regretted that rash decision, she had made good use of the blood tie between them. For the past three hundred years, she had forced the Dark Master to behave by the simple threat of ending her own life, like Juliet in Shakespeare’s play, for then, because of the spell that bound them, he would die instantly as well.
It was Zolond’s greatest secret, and her own. Ramona did not believe in suicide, of course, but she would’ve done it gladly as a last resort to contain the Dark Druids’ evil and save countless lives.
After all, she knew better than anyone that there was nothing Zolond feared more than death—and who could blame him?
He had spent the past three centuries in league with the demon Shemrazul. So, when death finally came to claim the Dark Master, it was down, down, down to the Ninth Pit of Hades that Zolond would go.
The Horned One had granted him great magical power during his long lifetime, but it came with a price. He still owed the demon his soul.
And yet, as she approached the door to her private apartments, Ramona warned herself not to jump to conclusions, the way Peter had with Jillian.
There was still one good reason to hope that Zolond was not behind tonight’s attack: the simple fact that she had not seen him here.
Only Wyvern and a handful of other Dark Druids.
Supposedly, Zolond was taking a much-needed sabbatical in the Balefire Mountains. He had told her he had left Wyvern, his second-in-command, in charge.
Of course, that could be part of the lie. As the leader of the Dark Druids, the old sorcerer-king might’ve simply remained inside the Black Fortress, commanding his troops from a distance.
There was, however, a slim possibility that Zolond knew nothing about tonight’s raid, had had nothing to do with it.
At the moment, Ramona didn’t know what to believe, but she intended to find out. It was time to put their longstanding bond to the test.
With that, she opened the door to her chambers and stepped into the sitting room. After pulling the door shut firmly behind her, she leaned against it for a moment and took a deep breath. I will get to the bottom of this.
Half of her braced for confirmation of what would surely feel like a very personal betrayal. The other half hoped stubbornly for the best: that her dear Geoffrey was still true to her, in his way, innocent of any involvement in this, and willing to prove it by helping the Order in their hour of direst need.
Humph. She shook her head cynically. To think that it should come to this! That Dark Master Zolond, of all people, might be the Order’s best hope for survival—if only for the next few hours—until repairs on the dome could start to take effect.
Pushing away from the door, Ramona crossed the parlor to the small, round table, where she sat down grimly before her white crystal ball.
It was time to confront the Dark Master.
Closing her eyes, she rested her hands on the pure quartz sphere and strove to calm her mind. Unfortunately, she was so shaken by the night’s events that, much to her frustration, she could barely concentrate.
Finally, after a few deep breaths, she managed by sheer force of will to project herself out of her body and into the astral plane.
For a second, darkness engulfed the Elder witch.
She heard the softly chiming notes of the ethereal music in this neutral zone that she and Zolond had conjured for their secret meetings in the ethers.
Then she opened her spi
rit eyes and saw the white, curling path that led across a purple void with big crystal stars.
At the end of the walkway was the drifting charcoal gazebo where they had been holding their parleys. Its shape and colors dissolved slowly upward, bit by bit, like a runny watercolor painting that defied gravity.
To her surprise, Zolond was already there.
Why, she had assumed she’d have to summon him. But, in the distance, she could see him pacing around slowly in the gazebo.
What on earth is he doing?
Strange musical notes joined the customary chimes from the stars that flashed here and there and twinkled in the purple clouds.
Ramona furrowed her brow, not knowing what to make of this. Had he come to gloat?
Suddenly, long, discordant notes whined in the distance, scratching and squeaking like a dragon’s claws on a chalkboard.
She winced, confused. It was dreadful!
Instantly on her guard, Ramona wondered what on earth the old devil was up to. Was this some new form of torture the Dark Master had devised?
Gripping the astral version of her wand, she forced herself forward. The rumble of thunder she brought with her wasn’t on purpose; this setting they’d created merely responded to their emotions.
Zolond heard the growl of thunder rolling toward the gazebo and turned.
Each time Ramona looked at him, even here, in the astral plane, she still caught glimpses of the well-bred, bookish lad she had once loved.
An elderly gentleman now, slight of build, with snow-white hair and the stately manner of a retired butler, the Geoffrey of today looked as though he were in his mid-seventies, as did she. But, in truth, he was three years older than Ramona: three hundred and thirty-six.
Fossils, the both of us. Elder witch and Dark Master alike, they had been too long in this world.
Zolond turned when he noticed her coming, and Ramona’s jaw dropped as she spotted the source of that dreadful noise: the old fool was attempting to play the violin!
She scoffed, remembering the musical talent he’d shown in his youth. Well, he’d lost any skill he might’ve developed over the years, to be sure.
His efforts at this late date sounded like two werecats fighting.
“Well! This is a pleasant surprise.” Zolond lowered the violin from his shoulder as he waited for her to arrive. “Evening, ol’ girl. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“What on earth are you doing, you daft old loon?” Ramona demanded as she whooshed up to the gazebo with a mere thought.
He grinned with a flash of his old charm and glanced down at the instrument dangling from his grasp. “Trying to tune this old thing. Haven’t played it in years. I fear it shows. The strangest thing—I suddenly found myself in the mood to give it a go again. Funny, eh? Thought I’d serenade you if you came along, and here you are. So what song would like me to…” His smile faded as he noticed her stark expression. “Ramona, what’s wrong?”
“As if you don’t know,” she whispered bitterly. Her voice had all but fled.
Facing him like this, the possibility that he might’ve betrayed her yet again was overwhelming.
He cocked his head with apparent confusion.
“Wyvern attacked us!” she cried, too angry for eloquence.
“What?” Zolond went motionless.
“That demon-spawn just attacked Merlin Hall!” She cursed her voice for trembling, but her throat felt tight. “He had an army of Noxu warriors and half the Dark Druid Council by his side.”
Zolond stared at her with a look of shock.
Ramona gathered her composure. “Tell me right now: are you behind this?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The violin promptly vanished, and the bow in his right hand became his wand, the scepter of the sorcerer-king. “When?”
“Moments ago! I swear, Geoffrey, if you had anything to do with this, I will never forgive you. If it’s war you want, by all that’s holy, it is war you shall have!”
Her threat reverberated mightily into the purple void.
His eyes turned to ice. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Thunder rumbled louder with her wrath. “They besieged the palace. Balinor is dead. They’ve burned the Old Yew!” she burst out, and a sob escaped her, to her shame.
“What?” he whispered.
“You dare feign innocence? You are the sorcerer-king! This is your doing—I’m no fool! But perhaps I am, for you have surely deceived me.”
“No!” Zolond took a step toward her. She sensed no deception. “I am not a part of this, Ramona. I swear. You must believe me.”
“Must I? Even though you serve the Father of Lies?”
He stared at her in dismay. “I can only give you my word.” He searched her eyes. “Whom did you see?”
Her heart pounded. Heaven help her, she wanted to believe him. “Wyvern led the raid. But the vampire queen, Viola Sangray, she was there too, foul creature. And your insane field marshal, Archeron Raige. Fionnula Coralbroom. The wood elves said that they could sense your filthy prophet, Duradel, somewhere nearby, but no one actually saw him. Oh, and let’s not forget Captain Dread of The Dream Wraith. He was up there battering the dome from above with the airship’s guns.”
Zolond’s pale eyes turned black as he absorbed this information. “He broke through your shields?”
“Damaged them, yes. Fionnula assisted, I believe. But,” she admitted stiffly, “they had help. One of our own turned traitor.”
“Who?” he asked, marveling.
“Boris Badgerton. He…he dug a tunnel underneath the dome’s shields, and let Wyvern and his army in.”
“But isn’t he an Elder?” Zolond exclaimed.
She nodded. “Representing the shapeshifters.”
“Baal’s beard,” Zolond murmured. “When did this occur?”
Ramona rubbed her forehead wearily. “It started over an hour ago. We just now repelled them. I swear, Geoffrey, if this is your doing—”
“It is not!” He moved closer. “I vow to you, Ramona, I had nothing to do with this. You know I have no desire for war. We’re both too old for this nonsense. But blazes… If Wyvern has indeed killed the Old Father Yew, then the balance between dark and light is all awry at the moment.” He looked at her. “Both our sides face collapse.”
“I’m aware of that! Why else would I be here?” she snapped. “Something must be done, and at the moment, you’re the only one who can stop that Nephilim filth from coming back and—finishing us off.”
Zolond’s lined face turned grim. “Yes. I see…” His gaze wandered as he considered. “Now it all comes clear. Wyvern has been scheming behind my back…” He looked at her again. “He’s finally made his move. Still, I had no idea he would do something so rash. Do not fear. I assure you, he will be punished this very night. I will deal with him at once.”
She stared at him through the astral plane, and Dark Master Zolond stared back.
Obviously, he was a most accomplished liar, but, as deeply as they were connected by the Montague and Capulet spell, she could sense no lies from him.
“The truce that’s kept both sides in check for hundreds of years has been broken, as of now,” Ramona informed him. “If you indeed plan to get Wyvern under control, then you’d better hurry. The Black Fortress is still stationed just beyond the bounds of Merlin Hall. He could return at any moment.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Zolond said in a voice of iron. “I can be there within a quarter hour. But first, Ramona, you must promise me one thing.”
“You dare ask for favors?” she cried, outraged.
He ignored her glare. “Once I’ve dealt with Wyvern, I want to see you again. In person.”
She was taken aback—and not at all sure that was a good idea.
“Will you meet with me just once…for old times’ sake?”
Ramona harrumphed, then drummed her fingers on her folded arms.
“We can negotiate a new p
eace treaty for the future, since this one’s destroyed. Well?” he asked.
“I hardly think that is appro—”
“Promise me!”
Time was of the essence, so Ramona rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well!”
“Good.” Zolond tugged at his black silk waistcoat, looking pleased. “Then I shall be there shortly. Tell your forces not to attack me when I appear. This is between Wyvern and me. Keep your fighters back, or someone could get hurt.”
Ramona nodded with relief and ignored the lump in her throat. He had not betrayed her.
Thank you, old friend.
“Good luck,” she forced out.
His lips twisted. “Luck? My dear lady, I wear the Black Crown. Luck has nothing to do with it, I assure you. Farewell.”
Amused at his arrogance, she nodded goodbye.
Then he disappeared.
A moment later, Ramona zoomed back out into the present world as well.
Upon opening her physical eyes again, she glanced toward the window of her room. An ominous tremor ran through her.
Never in her long, long life had she ever imagined that a day would arrive when the fate of the whole Order rested on her ancient bond with Geoffrey de Lacey. He had always been the most fearsome warlock she had ever known.
Still, she did not envy him going up against Wyvern and the Dark Druid Council by himself. She stared out the window at the moon.
Let’s hope the old scoundrel hasn’t lost his touch.
* * *
So, Zolond thought, incensed, the devil’s whelp dares launch a coup against me?
He understood exactly what this meant.
As the Dark Master returned from the astral plane to the present reality of his large, cozy cavern in the Balefire Mountains, he would have liked to claim he was surprised.
But he had gained an inkling of Wyvern’s intent about a week and a half ago, when Ramona had told him of the Nephilim’s attempt to abduct her nephew, Jake, from the boy’s estate of Griffon Castle.
Ah well. Zolond drew a deep inhalation through his nostrils and let it out slowly. Such scheming was to be expected when one allied oneself with the evilest companions one could find. Treachery was in their blood.