Erik nodded.
“And what about her?” Bofim asked, pointing to the snow cat.
“What about her?” Erik asked.
“Do you intend to keep her?” Bofim asked.
“I’ll just see if she follows me,” Erik said with a smile. “If she does, consider her an ally.”
“That’s a good ally to have,” Turk said. “Lead on, Friend of Cats.”
Erik obliged with a small smile on his face.
54
Erik and his companions passed a pack of white-furred wolves as they made their way to the depot of stored, confiscated weapons.
“Are they winter wolves?” Erik asked, speaking of the wolves he had encountered in the Southern Mountains that had a higher than animal intelligence and willingly served evil—in his case, the dragon from Orvencrest.
“No,” Bofim replied, “simply wolves with fur to match their environment. I would imagine winter wolves might align themselves with a man like this wizard.”
The wolves growled as they passed, staring intently at the snow cat, and the snow cat replied with a hiss of its own.
As they ascended the stairway to the upper levels of Fealmynster, Erik saw the signs of fighting and battle. Blood. Body parts. He saw the mountain troll, lying face down and headfirst on the third flight of stairs. At least half a dozen dead green-skinned, possessed soldiers lay around the beast, as well as another mutant. A part of him actually felt sorry for the troll.
At least it died free.
They had climbed another five flights of stairs when they found the dwarf Erik had freed, once a grotesque monster in servitude to Sustenon the Damned. He had killed even more possessed soldiers than the troll and two of the man-like monsters, but his fate was much worse than the troll, which had been simply too many spear and sword wounds. The dwarf looked burnt, the skin around his chest, legs, and arms peeled back as if it were simply the skin of some fruit. A look of terror was tattooed on the dwarf’s face. Payback, perhaps, for betraying the wizard.
“Every damn level looks the same,” Bryon grumbled as they passed yet another stair landing and hallway, only to continue to climb the seemingly endless stairs.
“That is one of the many maddening things about this place,” Erik replied.
They came to another landing. Erik stopped. He felt the artery in his neck thump hard against the collar of his mail shirt and coif. His stomach twisted, and gooseflesh rose along his arms. He had been here before. As much as each hallway looked the same, he recognized this one. He readied his shield and gripped Ilken’s Blade tightly.
“This is it,” he said.
“How can you be sure?” Turk asked.
“I just am,” Erik replied, and as if they needed some sort of confirmation, the snow cat growled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “Follow me,” said Erik.
He didn’t wait to see if they followed, but he knew his friends would. They walked slowly for a while, the sound of their feet echoing off the walls. The hallways curved with the curvature of the keep, so they couldn’t see nor hear the coming troops, but Erik knew they were there.
The first possessed soldiers came into view. A spear flew over Erik’s shoulder and thudded into the chest of the first soldier. Another one struck the man next to that soldier and both fell, dead. A hand axe thunked into the face of a third man, right between his eyes.
There must have been a dozen soldiers in all, marching through the hallway and led by a grossly fat mutant with two heads, four legs, and four arms. Its two heads looked different, one with long, matted hair and a messy beard, while the other one was bald with a droopy, oily mustache. Its skin was almost black and saggy, folds upon folds of fat layering its body, and the stink that came from the thing made Erik gag. He wondered if it was two men that the wizard had combined, melding their bodies together as another one of his experiments.
As large and powerful looking as the grotesque creature was, it was awkward and unwieldy in the hall. As it moved towards Erik, it squashed two possessed soldiers between its massive girth and the wall. Erik charged the thing, and as it swung at him with two of its arms, he rolled underneath it. He heard his friends engage the creature, unable to turn in the hallway with any sort of ease, as he fought with the remaining half dozen soldiers.
Their movements, as before, were so predictable and uniform, they weren’t much of a challenge for the well-trained warrior. An army of these possessed soldiers would be a force to be reckoned with, especially against a nation such as Hámon, who used men-at-arms and peasant conscripts to fill the majority of its armies, but one on one—or six on one—against a fighter such as Erik Eleodum made them easy work.
Erik punched one soldier with his shield, breaking the man’s nose, while slashing at the shins of another, bringing him to his knees. With one soldier blinded by blood and another on his knees, two more stumbled over the disabled men. A blade to the throat killed one and then across the chest incapacitated another. He kicked out at a knee and heard cracking. The soldier dropped, and he brought a knee into the possessed man’s face. Ilken’s Blade to the back of a leg hamstrung the last soldier.
Erik looked over his shoulder. The fat creature was on one knee, black blood covering its whole body. He saw the flash of a bright purple light, and one of the black-skinned arms fell to the ground, the wound crackling with red burn marks. The snow cat leapt onto one of the heads, biting at the bald scalp and clawing at its eyes, but still the mutant fought on.
“Go, Erik!” Turk shouted. “We will meet up with you!”
Erik ran. The hallway, like all the other ones, seemed never-ending, but he eventually came to a door he recognized. No one guarded it, and when Erik touched the brass handle, it opened without any effort.
He’s expecting me.
A short hallway led to the circular room. Stepping into the hallway, Erik didn’t see anyone, but someone—or something—could easily be hiding.
Careful, Dream Walker.
“Do shut up, Dewin,” came an actual voice, the sound echoing a little in the high-ceilinged room.
Erik recognized the softness of Sustenon’s voice, one that indicated a formal education, someone who knew people and could easily influence them. He almost convinced Erik to kill himself.
Dewin. So that was the name of the old man from Eldmanor.
“Yes, Dewin,” Sustenon said, reading Erik’s thoughts again. “Believe it or not, we were classmates.”
“Classmates?” Erik said.
“We were apprentices together,” Sustenon said. “Obviously, the practice of magic has not been as kind to Dewin’s body as it has on mine.”
“And for whom were we apprentices?” Sustenon asked. It sounded as if he was actually asking Erik if he knew.
Erik crouched, raising his shield to just under his eyes, and didn’t move. He just shrugged, and though he didn’t verbally reply to Sustenon, he knew the wizard would know his response.
“But it was Andragos, of course,” Sustenon said, laughing.
He was a liar, this Sustenon. He was a deceiver, a manipulator, a crafter of honeyed words. He used words to sway people, hypnotize people.
“It’s no lie,” Sustenon added. “Andragos, the Black Mage, used to train wizards. We were two of his greatest students. I am a product of your beloved Andragos.”
How did Sustenon know Erik had anything to do with Andragos? Beloved? What an odd word to use for the Messenger of the East. As if Erik and the Black Mage were friends.
“Of course,” Sustenon continued, “Andragos has done far worse than I have; than I ever will. Thousands upon thousands of deaths are the fault of the Black Mage. I was persecuted for trying to perfect the race of men, for trying to make society better through my experimentation, and he is lauded for destruction and death. Fools.”
Sustenon was nothing more than a whining child at that moment, and he sounded … mad. Crazy was the only other word Erik could think of. He kept quiet, waiting for the tirade t
o continue.
“I am ostracized for trying to help my fellow man and yet Andragos is lifted up and given more power for destroying lives!” Sustenon complained, as his perfect skin got redder and redder. “Why oh why can’t I be heard? Why am I so misunderstood?”
Sustenon had worked himself up into a temper tantrum, and as he yelled, the room shook, dust and rubble shaking loose from the ceiling. Erik now worried that the wizard would do something terrible again to appease his anger. From the short hallway, Erik could see the room brightening, and he felt the hair on his arms and neck stand on end. Something akin to lightning filled the room, zapping the ground and walls and leaving burn marks where they touched. Fire flashed in front of Erik as two pillars of flame struck the entrance but missed him as he was protected by the narrow hall. Then Erik heard a heavy breath and a deep sigh.
“I apologize, Erik,” Sustenon said, still out of sight. “I am not being a very gracious host. I did, however, see that you did not have the courage to take your own life. Pity. You are truly a disappointment to the people around you.”
Erik remembered his grandfather at that moment. He was a smart man, the smartest Erik had ever met. He told Erik a number of ideas and sayings to cling to in times of trouble, and one had encouraged him a lot in recent times.
The Creator is with you Erik, even in the deepest, darkest places.
But that wasn’t the one that crossed his mind at this moment. It was something his grandfather had told him when he was a little boy, a time of tragedy in the free farms of Háthgolthane. A young man who lived several farms over from theirs—a man who was at that time perhaps as old as Erik was now—had left, the only heir to his father’s farm, to serve as a deckhand in Finlo and make some extra money before returning home and taking over his father’s farm. While out at sea, pirates had attacked the ship on which he worked, and he lost his life. When his body returned to Northwest Háthgolthane, the men who escorted the young man told tales of his legendary courage in battle, that they were still alive because of him. The very next day, the young man’s father took his own life, so struck with grief.
“Why, Grandpa?” Erik had asked.
It was a double question. Why had a young man, knowing he would one day run a profitable farm, been so willing to die, and why would his father take his own life. His grandfather’s response was the words Erik said to Sustenon now.
“Most men have the courage to die,” Erik said, his voice stern and loud and sure, “but few have the courage to live.”
There was a slight pause, broken only by Sustenon’s deep and reverberating laughter.
“Spoken like a true coward,” he said, but Erik knew the laugh was false and the wizard knew the truth.
Erik inched forward, still in his fighting stance, and as he came into the room, he could see Sustenon on the other side of the illuminated altar. The wizard clapped his hands, and lightning exploded from his palms. Erik thought it might be futile, but he raised his shield anyways and, to his surprise, the electricity splashed off the dwarvish shield.
“Tricky boy,” Sustenon said through clenched teeth.
“Where are your minions?” Erik asked. “The men you have possessed and changed for your supposed experiments that better mankind?”
“They are perfect, are they not?” Sustenon said, raising his hands up. “Do you not see? They feel no pain. They don’t get tired. They don’t age. What were they before me? Simple peasants. Lowly and unequal. Destined to suffer the pains of life—poverty, sorrow, sadness, age.”
“And the grotesque mutants that were clearly once men?” Erik asked.
“You may say grotesque,” Sustenon replied, “I say beautiful. They are built to protect the herd. They have kept their ability to think so they might serve me better.”
“They are monsters,” Erik said.
“They are my children!” Sustenon yelled, clenching his fists as spittle flew from his mouth, and the room shook again.
“You are mad,” Erik said with a slight smile, knowing the response he would invoke.
The wizard lifted his hands and sharp spikes of rock exploded from the ground. Erik jumped to the side again and again as pointed shards of stone stabbed upwards. Sustenon waved his hands and a tornado rolled around the room, picking up stone and tossing it about. Erik hid behind one of the pillars of rock until the whirlwinds subsided, managing to avoid the projectiles the winds threw about. Sustenon clapped again and, where there was empty space in the floor, creepers with thick, dark green vines riddled with long spines broke through the stone and spread faster than any plant should ever move. Erik cut at several vines deliberately growing in his direction, but where he cut, two vines grew.
Sustenon’s laughter was maddening as Erik fretted over what he could do. He looked to one of the sconces on the wall, glowing with a white light, and he knew it was firestone. It didn’t burn like a wood torch, but the sizzling flare might be enough to ignite pitch. He jumped over vines as they lurched up at him, the thorns scratching his face. Wherever they touched, his skin burned. Poison. Reaching one of the sconces, Erik sheathed Ilken’s Blade and retrieved a pitch-smeared torch from his haversack, putting the black tar to the firestone. He held it there, waiting, as creepers wrapped around his ankles and clawed up his legs.
Finally, the pitch caught fire, and the torch flared to life. Just as a thorny creeper was about to make for his crotch, he put the fire to it, and it recoiled like a wounded snake. He thought he even heard a distance screech. Touching the creeper fully with the torch, the green vine flared with flame and burned away.
Erik ran about the room, touching the torch to the green vine and watching it burn away, all the while dodging fireballs Sustenon threw at him. It was too late when the wizard realized he was actually helping Erik’s cause, as the sparks from the fireballs also caught the green creepers aflame. He yelled and, when the wizard opened his mouth, thousands of bees flew from it, all buzzing directly towards Erik. He hid behind one of the rocky pillars and his shield as much as he could, but still felt the slight pinch of bee sting after bee sting on his neck and face.
Erik threw his torch at Sustenon and drew Ilken’s Blade.
“Enough!” Erik said. “I’ve had enough of you. Your time has come to an end. Your curse on this place is over. And the Dragon Sword will be mine.”
Sustenon began to laugh, almost uncontrollably.
“You still don’t know, do you?” The wizard laughed. “You have had …”
“The sword all along,” Erik said, “yes, I know.”
What Erik said had truly shocked the wizard, and he stopped laughing.
“Then why come back?” he asked, almost looking like a child who has understanding of a complex matter.
“Because that is my mission,” Erik said. “Because that is what I was told to do. And the reason is because I am freeing the people and this land from your slavery and evil ways.”
Place me on the altar.
The voice was faint and weak, its power—or the elf’s—waning more than ever, so Erik hurried to take his dagger from his belt as he ran from rocky pillar to rocky pillar, dodging lightning strikes and fireballs hurled once more by Sustenon.
Whatever happens, thank you.
He felt the slightest of tingles in his hand by way of response as he raced towards the altar. An errant fireball splashed against a rocky protrusion next to him, some of the flame scorching his beard and hair on one side. He felt the sting of burning on his cheek but pushed aside the pain. Reaching the altar, he placed the dagger within the light that seemed to have no source.
Upon seeing the weapon lying there, Sustenon stopped all his attacks, and his face filled with panic. He pushed his hands out towards Erik, who felt a wind strike him in the chest and he fell backward. The wizard ran to the altar, but before he could reach it, something pushed him back, throwing him to the floor more forcibly than Erik, who was already staggering to his feet.
Place your sword next to me.
“Erik! Behind you!” Beldar yelled.
Erik turned to see Sustenon standing again, and as he chanted something inaudible, a purple light appeared between the wizard’s hands, flowing from palm to palm like electricity. A crystal appeared there and flew through the air, aimed straight for Erik’s heart. Erik felt something, a shoulder, ramming into his side, and fell into the altar, purple light exploding where he stood only a moment before. Beldar flew backward, crashing through one of the rocky protrusions, his chest black and charred where the purple crystal had struck him.
“Beldar!” Erik yelled.
The snow cat ran to the fallen dwarf, standing over him and growling, its jowls pulled back and revealing dagger-like teeth. Erik was about to attend Beldar alongside the cat when the voice of his dagger stopped him.
Erik! The dragon tooth!
The dagger’s urgent call was barely audible, and Erik looked to his friend, his breathing shallow, for a final moment before he did as he was told. Retrieving the shard of dragon tooth, cut from the dragon of Orvencrest, from his haversack, he unwrapped the cloth he kept it in and it glowed and burned his hand when he touched it. Erik ignored the pain of the dragon’s poison and placed the tooth on the altar, next to the dagger and Ilken’s Blade before Sustenon could stop him.
The altar lit up, almost blinding Erik, and he found himself shielding his eyes.
“The Dragon Sword is mine!” Sustenon cried.
Erik couldn’t see the wizard now, so bright was the light, and could only make out his silhouette and hear the shuffling of his feet as he moved towards the altar. When the light subsided, the elf from his baptismal vision stood there on the top of the altar. He wore a mail hauberk and held a longbow that was as tall as Bryon. He looked to Erik first, smiled, and nodded. Then, he looked to Sustenon.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 36