Rook cast a quick glance at Pollard, thankful the Songsbirthian hadn’t seen Yarstaff. If Pollard were to lay eyes on the orange furred Voil, he would go berserk.
Abraham sauntered across the stage, past the line of pikemen. His eyes met Rook’s, and he stopped for a moment of silent deliberation. The white-bearded visage seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but instead, he gave Rook a subtle nod and joined the rest of the council.
The chambermaster’s voice thundered throughout the cavern. “Those gathered this day are here to bear witness. King Malcolm has brought death upon himself by conniving with Helleden Misenthorpe. Let it be known, the monarch of Zephyr has brought the entire might of the sorcerer’s minion horde, and the Kraidic Empire down upon Zephyr’s bastion of knowledge.”
The bewildered faces of several chambermen eased with the explanation of the king’s devilry. The faces of the militiamen nearest Rook turned sour as they looked upon their traitorous monarch.
“Aye, now everyone present knows what we, the Chamber, have been preaching since the firestorm sacked our land. King Malcolm champions Helleden’s cause.”
Angry mutterings sounded across the stage.
Rook, exchanged a bewildered look with Pollard and Pantyr. His mind felt like it was filling with wool. How could the chambermaster utter such deception?
“That’s not true!” Pantyr shouted.
Several pikemen cast Pantyr a scathing look. A guard sporting an old facial scar came at him, but Pollard stepped in between. Fettered hand and foot, Pollard’s presence still deterred the guard from taking further action.
Rook sensed his big friend was about to go off. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed Yarstaff yet.
Abraham’s voice deescalated the tension. “Barong, show yourself!”
Everyone looked toward the locked doorway at the far end of the hall, but the one called Barong appeared above the main stage, watching them from the second tier.
Barong hid beneath a floppy black cowl. Whatever lay beneath the hood didn’t seem human. Even from where he stood, Rook thought he could feel the evil wafting off the creature.
The chambermen and women backed away, making their way around the four chairs to distance themselves from whatever it was that looked down on them. All except Chambermaster Uzziah and Vice Chambermistress Arzachel Gruss.
The motionless bodies of the king and Yarstaff lay exposed directly below the creature as it lifted its gangly limbs and bent low, extending curved talons toward the prone bodies.
Pollard’s roar diverted everyone’s attention.
Rook flinched. Pollard had caught sight of Yarstaff.
The pikemen closest to the prisoners were ill prepared to deal with the enraged giant charging into their midst, fettered and all.
Jibrael spun from his position beside the nearest chair and pointed at Pollard. “Kill him, you fools!”
The closest guards prepared to swing their polearms, the action made cumbersome in the close proximity of their peers. Before they affected a proper swing, Pantyr Korn charged into the nearest man and sent him sprawling into the second.
Pollard continued unabated toward the Enervator.
Jibrael drew his sword, bracing himself.
Rook had to give Jibrael credit. He doubted many men would have calmly waited on Pollard’s approach, restrained or not.
A thunderous concussion from the far end of the cavern made Rook jump.
Pollard stopped his advance, as did the dozen pikemen on his heels.
Before anyone had time to do anything but look that way, the noise sounded again. The thick, double doors exploded inward—hardwood splintering into hundreds of jagged pieces.
Twice the size of a normal man, standing upon heavily muscled grey legs and elongated feet that were tipped by three talons each to match those of its front paws, the Sentinel ducked through the doorway and rose up to its full height. Narrow red eyes surveyed the vast Chamber cavern, locking on Barong.
Barong’s voice hissed from the shadows of his cloak. “Ah, the Sentinel. It’s time to kill a king.”
Rook swallowed and unconsciously stepped backward as the Sentinel stormed up the aisle. One moment it stood at the far end of the Chamber, and in the next it appeared within the empty rows of wooden audience benches, its weight crushing the seats below its massive feet. It blinked out and appeared a few rows closer and then winked out again. It didn’t take it long to mount the stage near the group of terrified chambermen and pad its way over to the motionless forms of King Malcolm and Yarstaff.
The Gritian militia backed away, their attention riveted on Helleden’s demons, and left Pollard and Jibrael alone. Barong dropped down to the first stage with a familiar looking staff in its hands. If Rook didn’t know any better he would have sworn Barong was in possession of Alhena’s walking stick. But why?
Barong’s head jerked around to stare at the blasted Chamber doorway. “The wizard!” it hissed and leaped past the Sentinel into the first row of seats. It sidestepped into the main aisle and quickly disappeared beyond the shattered entryway.
The Sentinel watched Barong leave the Chamber and then, without warning, impaled the king’s chest with its six long claws and hoisted his convulsing body into the air.
Malcolm’s deep blue eyes opened wide, laced with exquisite agony.
Rook couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe what he saw. It couldn’t be real.
On the far side of the Sentinel, Chambermaster Uzziah grabbed at the beast’s arm, shouting at the creature to finish off Yarstaff before he awoke.
The Sentinel snarled its displeasure. It withdrew one paw from the king’s torn chest and sent High Bishop Uzziah sprawling into the cringing huddle of terrified chambermen.
Pollard roared louder.
Pantyr Korn cried out.
The militiamen stood dazed.
Pollard dropped into a crouch and stepped back over his bound hands so that they were now before him. He sidestepped Jibrael’s frantic swing, wrapped the short length of his manacle chains around the Enervator’s neck, and twisted in one fluid motion. “I warned you, maggot.”
Jibrael’s feet left the ground. His sword dropped from his hands and his necks bones snapped.
Several militiamen ran at him. They were intercepted by Pantyr and Rook who drove their shoulders into the lead runners and knocked two off the stage into the first row of benches.
Three guards recovered their stride. Ignoring Rook and Pantyr, they closed in on Pollard but didn’t attack as Jibrael hung suspended in his grasp.
Pollard spun Jibrael’s lifeless body through the air and released it at the oncoming guardsmen—their flailing arms unable to deflect the Enervator’s corpse. Before the guards recovered, Rook and Pantyr drove their shoulders into them again. Pantyr toppled over his falling man while Rook drove his target completely off the stage.
Rook’s momentum carried him over the edge to crash on top of the injured guardsman amongst a jumble of broken benches. The man grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from escaping but Rook’s forehead cracked him on the bridge of the nose and he let go.
On the stage, he watched a battle-axe wielding guard bear down on Pollard. “Pollard, behind you!”
Rook thought he had called out his warning too late as the guard chopped at Pollard, but his jaw dropped when Pollard spun around and caught the blade’s edge between his manacles. Pollard was driven to the ground under the force of the swing—the vibrating concussion rattling the weapon from the guard’s hands.
The axe had either severed the chain between the binders or damaged the mechanism of the manacles. Rook was as surprised as the guard when Pollard reached out with freed hands—broken lengths of chain hung from the iron bands upon his wrists. He clutched the guard by his armpits and launched him over his back, into the Sentinel.
The Sentinel staggered under the weight of the guard and dropped the king’s body to the stage, its red eye slits searching for the person responsible.
&nbs
p; Pollard grabbed the guard’s battle-axe and rose to his full height.
Those present in the Chamber paused to witness the spectacle—a musclebound giant of a man confronted an even larger beast straight from hell.
Into the Serpent’s Nest
Melody slipped her small leather bag into a hidden pocket within the folds of her wizard’s robe. She had mixed feelings about continuing their quest to reclaim Silurian’s lost enchantment. Yes, they had need of it if they wished to confront Helleden, but to go rooting about the lair of an underwater wyrm seemed like a fool’s errand. What good would the two of them be to Zephyr if they lay rotting in the bowels of an aquatic dragon?
Retrieving her staff from where it leaned against the rock face, she said, “Alright, I’m ready.”
Silurian rolled his eyes. “Finally.”
She gave him a nervous laugh. He had just gathered whatever little gear he had, himself.
“What is it?” Silurian asked.
She smiled at his intuition. He knew her better than anyone else ever did. Even after all these years, he picked up on her conflicting emotions. “I don’t know. Just being silly, I guess.”
“Silly? About what?” Silurian kept a wary eye on the Grimward hovering several paces away, waiting for them to follow it across the island.
She shrugged, staring at the ground between him. When she looked into his eyes, she could tell he saw the worry evident in her own.
“Mel, what is it?” He nodded toward the spectre. “Him?”
She pursed her lips, trying to think of a good way to explain herself. Unable to do so, she asked, “Are we doing the right thing?”
Silurian had begun to walk toward the Grimward but stopped. He stepped back to her. “Doing the right thing? This was your idea. What else can we do? I won’t be much help without it. Heck, I may be useless with it.”
“I know it was my idea, but I’m having second thoughts. Is it worth it to risk our lives? I mean, marching into a wyrm’s nest doesn’t strike me as a wise thing to do. We may as well head north to Lurker’s Lake and speak with the dragon there.”
Silurian gave her a strange look. He probably had no idea what she was talking about. “Never mind. It’s rumoured an old dragon inhabits a magical tower along the northern border of the Kraidic Empire. According to Phazarus, we would find all sorts of items up there that would help us defeat Helleden.”
“Then let’s go there if you don’t think this is a good idea. You’re the wizard. You know what’s what when it comes to magic.”
Melody looked away and muttered. “Not really.” She looked back. “If I had to choose between searching the Serpent’s Nest or travelling for weeks through Kraidic lands to face a dragon, I would choose the Serpent’s Nest, no questions asked.”
“Then that settles it. Come on.” Silurian started off again, but Melody remained where she was.
“I guess, but aren’t you afraid?”
Silurian stopped. “Afraid? Constantly. It keeps my feet moving.”
Melody couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Besides, I’m with the Wizard of the North, what could possibly go wrong?”
Her anxiety spiked hearing the sarcasm in his voice. She had almost gotten them killed more than once. Some wizard she turned out to be.
Silurian walked back and put an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. With your staff and my sword, this worm—”
“Wyrm,” she corrected.
“This wyrm, had better mind itself, or it shall find itself skewered and crispy.”
She spat out a laugh. Shaking her head, she put an arm around his back as well. Together they traipsed after the spirit of an ancient wizard.
It took them the better part of the day to reach the eastern shore of Grimward Island. The sun settled amongst the trees of a larger island in the distance—the Serpent’s Nest.
Standing on the gravel shoreline with the Grimward hovering several feet out over the lake, Silurian and Melody stared at their destination. Even if there had been a land bridge, it would take them half a day to cross.
She turned to face Silurian, about to dip her staff into the water.
Silurian held up a finger. “No.”
“No, what?”
“We’re not crossing over on an ice bridge.”
She frowned. How else did he expect to get there? Climb up on the Grimward’s back? Realization softened her features. That was it.
“Thunor, how strong are you?”
The spectre turned slowly before them, its flaming orbs studying her. “I am Thunor Carmichael, Wizard of the North. I am as strong as I need to be,” it rasped as if the question had been a ludicrous one.
“If that’s the island you mean, I shouldn’t have to remind you that neither Silurian nor I have the ability to fly. We’d also rather avoid taking to the water.”
The Grimward turned its head toward the distant island and then back again. “Weak mortals. Figure it out yourselves. Must I do everything for you?”
“Excuse me?” Melody raised her voice. “What exactly have you done for us? Attacked us and led us across a barren island after you realized you weren’t strong enough to defeat us?”
The Grimward’s eyes flared. “Watch what you say, mortal.”
“Wizard of the North, to you, you worthless bag of bones.”
Silurian gave her an uneasy glance.
The Grimward closed the gap between itself and Melody.
An unnatural wind blew across the gently rolling waters, fluttering her hair about her face, but she didn’t flinch. “You seem to forget. I am the daughter of Mase Storms End. The present-day Wizard of the North, appointed by Phazarus. Don’t even think about threatening me.”
The Grimward’s eyes burned intensely. Its mocking laugh unsettled her. “Brash have you become. If you need the help so badly, why don’t you ask Phazarus? I’m sure he’d be more than happy to interrupt whatever trivial matters he’s tending.”
Melody frowned. “Phazarus is still alive? How do you know that?”
The Grimward backed away, its flames dying down. “Seriously? You need to ask? I’m a spirit of the Wizard of the North. Don’t you think I’d know if Phazarus had become one too?” It turned and floated away.
Melody was speechless. She assumed Phazarus had left all those years ago so he could…what? Go off and die? That’s what she assumed. Why else would he give up his position to her? How long had it been? Six years for sure. The old wizard had said he needed to see to a few things before he found his eternal peace. She hadn’t figured it would take the industrious wizard that long to look after whatever it was that needed doing. Obviously, according to the Grimward at least, Phazarus hadn’t finished his final errand.
The revelation that she wasn’t alone in her role shook her to the core. All she had to do was find Phazarus and her fears of inadequacy would be set aside. Phazarus would save them. They didn’t have to face the wyrm after all.
She tried to recall everything Phazarus had told her about the Grimward’s existence, and her excitement waned. What would her mentor think if he knew she was considering turning away from the chance to imbue Silurian’s sword when they were this close? He would be disappointed. He had invested so much time and effort into her teaching. She couldn’t let him down.
With a firm resolve, she declared, “Thunor! Heed the true Wizard of the North.”
The Grimward slowed its flight.
“Phazarus relinquished the title to me long ago. Whether he still resides in the realm of the living is of no consequence. I command you, Grimward, to do my bidding. Your continued existence in this world is based solely on your ability to provide whatever otherworldly assistance the incumbent wizard requires of you. Tell me I’m wrong.”
The Grimward stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Tell me I’m wrong! I beseech you, oh mighty spirit, to abide by your time-honoured duty and assist the true Wizard of the North, or begone from our world once and for all.”
&nb
sp; The spectre made a slow turn, its eyes burning with more intensity than Melody had seen yet. The water between the Grimward and the island stirred. A strong wind buffeted the shore, whipping Melody and Silurian’s clothes and hair about.
Melody held her breath, fully expecting to burst into flames. She could tell Silurian expected the same.
The Grimward remained that way for a long while before its eyes dimmed. “What does the Wizard of the North desire of her devoted servant?”
Melody wasn’t sure she had heard the spirit correctly over the dying wind. “I command you to transport us to that island by whatever means you deem appropriate.”
Did the Grimward chuckle? Melody quickly added, “I will be extremely displeased if my robes get wet.”
The Grimward floated up to Melody and wrapped its skeletal fingers in the cloak material and robes beneath. Without a word, it lifted her off the ground and drifted several feet above the lake toward the distant island.
Silurian yelled out, “Hey!” but she was too concerned that she was going to fall out of the bottom of her bunched-up robes that were threatening to pull over her head. As painful as it was, she realized she had to keep her hands down by her sides to prevent her clothing from pulling off and dropping her into the steely waters. The wind in her face gave proof that their flight was rapid, but because she had to struggle to keep from falling, the trip seemed interminable. Just when she thought she could bear the discomfort no more, the Grimward dropped her on an outcropping of rock near a massive stone arch on the edge of the distant island.
Before she could complain, the spectre was way out over the open stretch of water, its form disappearing before her eyes in the waning daylight. She hoped the ancient spirit intended to retrieve her brother. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if the Grimward didn’t return.
The island she stood upon was nondescript, save for a stone archway easily spanning over twenty feet. On further inspection, the passage beneath the archway led into the earth. A narrow channel of water rushed into the blackness every time a wave rolled ashore.
The Wizard of the North Page 25
