Torches flared on the left side of the room. Suspended in a dark orb was Panadur. The old man’s face was ashen, but the corner of his mouth ticked up into a faint smile when he looked at Dean.
“Do you think I’d leave my dear brother to die in some forsaken world? Alone? Unloved?” Volsur clicked his tongue. “You misjudge me, Dean. I’m not the evil monster you think I am. You thought he was dead, but I came to your world and saved him. I brought him here and nursed him back to health. I’m not the wicked warlord my brother said I am. I’m a realist. People will take what they can. I believe you just need to take it first.”
Dean took a step toward Panadur, and the old man shook his head. Dean stopped.
“What?” Volsur’s hands went out. “No hug for your father?” He chuckled. “Think, Dean. Think. Why would Panadur send a boy to another world to try to stop someone as powerful as me?”
Dean stared at Panadur. The old man’s eyes burned. Dean could see emotions flash across his face. Anger. Pain. Love. Doubt.
Dean closed his eyes. After a moment, he turned back at Volsur, and a smirk spread across Dean’s face. “I’ll answer your question, and then you answer mine.”
Volsur raised an eyebrow. “Agreed. Why would your father send you to fight a man as powerful as me?”
Dean winked at Panadur. “He sent me here because he believed in me. He knows I can win.”
“You dare mock me?” Volsur roared.
Dean held up his hand. “Don’t flatter yourself; I mock everybody.” Dean grinned. “It’s time for you to answer my question. Why would you save your brother’s life?”
Volsur shook his head. “My poor boy. That’s right. I forgot. You’ve never had a family. You don’t understand what real love is.”
“No, I get it. The whole blood is thicker than water thing. But you? You said mercy is for the weak. The way I see it, you need something from your brothers. You need them to access the Middle Stone.” Dean was guessing, but he did his best to mask his expression.
Volsur leveled his gaze at Dean. A slight smile spread across his face, and then he turned his head toward Panadur. “It seems you have selected a bright pupil, brother. Very good, Dean. But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What would that be?” Dean shrugged.
“I need them to access the Middle Stones. Plural. There are many worlds I intend to conquer. I can access one. That’s easy. Getting an army through,” Volsur turned his hands out and sarcastically shrugged, “that’s a little more difficult. But with three wizards,” he snapped his fingers, “it’s a piece of cake.”
Dean felt his body grow cold. “You have a bit of a power complex. You should talk to someone about that, because you sure sound crazy.”
“Silence!” Volsur shouted.
The sound of metal on tile rang across the hall. Navarro was on his feet and picked up his sword. He glared at Dean. “I’ll finish him, my lord.” Navarro adjusted his grip.
Dean turned toward this new threat.
Navarro slightly shook his head as he approached Dean, and his eyes widened.
Dean took a step back.
Volsur laughed. “Looks like I’m right, Dean. This is what mercy gets you. Kill him, Navarro.”
Navarro yelled and charged at Dean. He raised his sword above his head and smashed it down. Dean easily blocked the blow.
“Free Panadur.” Navarro tried to mask his words in a growl and swung again.
Dean blocked and pressed forward, chest to chest with Navarro. “Go for Carimus,” Dean whispered.
Navarro shook his head slightly as he swung his sword. “No. Volsur.”
Dean leapt in front of Navarro and blocked his path. “You’ll die.”
Their swords clashed again. The sound of metal on metal rang through the room. Navarro pressed close to Dean. “Thank you.”
Dean moved to block Navarro.
Navarro sprang forward. He seized Dean and shoved him toward Panadur. Dean ran straight for the sphere while Navarro spun and rushed at Volsur.
“Traitor!” Volsur shrieked.
“Not anymore,” Navarro cried as he charged at the wizard.
Dean jumped for the red jewel that spun over the Panadur’s sphere. His sword shattered the gem. The sphere flickered and then vanished.
Panadur fell to his knees.
Volsur waved his hand, and a black bolt streaked straight at Navarro. The blast hit Navarro in the chest and blew him fifty feet backward. Navarro’s body slammed into a huge column and crumpled to the floor. As small broken pieces fell off the column where he hit, Dean was certain he was dead.
Volsur glared at Dean.
Flames flew from Panadur’s hand. He didn’t aim for Volsur but instead for the stone above the sphere that trapped his brother. The gem above Carimus’s sphere shattered.
Carimus’s hands were already moving as he dropped to the floor. He held both hands forward and grimaced.
Volsur screamed in rage.
Panadur’s hands wove the same signs as his brother, and he, too, thrust out his hands. “Strike now, Dean,” Panadur panted. “We’ll keep him from using his magic.”
Dean charged forward.
Volsur drew his sword and sneered. “I don’t need magic to kill your cub, brother.”
Their swords slammed together but Volsur swept Dean’s blade aside.
Dean leapt back but Volsur’s blade sliced into his left arm.
Volsur swung for Dean’s head. Dean ducked and thrust for Volsur’s chest, but each time he did, Volsur lowered his sword and aimed for Dean’s heart. Metal rang through the hall as Dean’s sword shot out and Volsur’s blade blocked. Dean’s blade became a blur, but every time he thought he could strike Volsur, Volsur’s sword was pointed straight at his chest. He had to stop his attack or be run through himself by the wizard’s sword.
A cry of pain from the corner of the room caused Dean’s eyes to dart away from Volsur. Panadur coughed and sank down to one knee. His face was ashen and his hands trembled. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
“Give up,” Volsur sneered. “Your father is still too weak to fight. If he goes much longer, not even I can save him.”
“Leave him alone,” Dean screamed as he struck wildly.
Volsur’s sword slashed Dean’s side.
Dean jumped back. He could feel the blood running down his ribs.
“And what about your uncle?” Volsur stood tall. “He’s very weak now, too.”
Dean looked at Carimus, who stood with his arms outstretched, his face also twisted in pain. He knew neither man could continue to fight much longer. He thought of his companions. They were all willing to die to defeat Volsur. Then he remembered Oieda’s spear.
Dean danced back and cast a quick sidelong look at Panadur. Their eyes locked. The old man’s eyes widened.
“Dean, NO,” Panadur cried, but it was too late.
Dean planted his rear foot. His sneaker pressed into the tile and his muscles fired. A feeling of power surged through him as he pushed off and lunged forward. Everything slowed. He flew straight at Volsur. Dean’s sword tip lowered and pointed at Volsur’s heart. Like a mirror image, Volsur did the same. Volsur’s snide, almost bored, smile disappeared when he saw that Dean didn’t pull back his attack this time.
Dean came straight in. Volsur’s arm was longer than Dean’s. Volsur’s sword struck Dean in the chest first, but Dean’s momentum carried him forward. Dean’s sword drove through Volsur’s chest. Volsur’s blade pierced Dean’s heart.
Dean heard Panadur scream. He wanted to turn his head and look at him, but his body wasn’t doing anything he asked anymore—including breathing. Dean saw Volsur’s huge sword buried in his chest but felt no pain. He couldn’t feel anything.
Dean’s hand slipped off the handle of his sword, but the sword and Volsur stayed where they were. Dean’s sword had driven straight through the evil wizard and pinned him to the column.
Volsur looked at Dean with pure evil in his eye
s. He screamed in rage and then began to change. His hair turned the color of night; his gray eyes sank back in his head and turned dark. His face became worn and scarred, and his robes turned to tatters. His screams filled the hall as his body smoldered. Smoke spiraled around the pillar, etching immense evil runes wherever it touched. With a last cry of hate, Volsur’s body burst into an ebony cloud that swept up the pillar and sank into the surface.
Dean crumpled to the floor. Panadur and Carimus rushed to his side. As Panadur cradled his head, Carimus pulled the sword from Dean’s chest.
“Carimus, please, help him,” Panadur begged.
Dean wanted to say something, but his whole body had stopped. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel anything.
Carimus placed his hand on Dean’s chest, narrowing his eyes. As he stared at Dean, Dean’s vision blurred and darkened.
“Carimus!” Panadur shouted.
“He’s not strong enough to survive.” Carimus pressed one hand down on Dean’s chest. “He’ll die in agony if I try.”
“Dead’s dead. Try.”
“There’s too much damage. I’m not strong enough.”
Panadur laid his hand on Dean’s chest. “Then I’ll help. Do it.”
“You’re too weak.” Carimus shook his head. “It could kill you.”
“Brother, please.”
Carimus’s scowl softened. He looked down at Dean. “This will hurt.”
Dean couldn’t feel anything. He knew it wouldn’t hurt. The room went dark, but Dean knew he hadn’t closed his eyes.
A pain unlike any other ripped through Dean’s body. His heels pressed into the floor, and he arched his back so high only the back of his head touched the floor. White light exploded all around him, and he screamed until his voice was hoarse, yet he kept screaming. It felt as if his body was slowly turning inside out while it burned.
Dean’s body fell back to the tile. He gasped, and his eyes fluttered open. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. Carimus lowered his face closer to Dean’s. His bushy eyebrows were arched with concern, and then his lips pressed together.
“He lived through the first part.” Carimus cast a worried glance at Panadur.
Panadur weakly smiled. “Keep going.”
Carimus shook his head. “It will be too much for you.”
Panadur shook his head. “Hang in there, Dean.” Panadur winked.
Dean tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to shout at Panadur to stop. He wanted to scream that it would be too much for the old man, but he was helpless.
“Dean, this next step is going to be really painful.”
Dean’s eyes widened.
A greenish blue light glowed from Carimus’s hands. He pressed them against Dean’s chest. Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his world turned black.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The New King
Dean’s eyes fluttered open, and he drew a ragged breath. The horrific pain was gone, but he struggled to sit up with a groan.
“Easy,” Carimus said. Dean looked at the old wizard who sat beside him. The man opened his eyes and a faint smile crossed his face. “You lived. I’m surprised.”
“Where’s . . .?” Dean’s voice trailed off when he saw Panadur lying on the tile floor.
“He’s alive.” Carimus put his hand on Dean’s arm. “He’s very weak. The strain was almost too much for him, but he will live. We should not move him.” Carimus’s eyes closed as he spoke.
“Oieda . . . I have to go help my friends.” Dean winced as he stood up.
“Too soon,” Carimus mumbled. “You’re still hurt.” Carimus lay his head down on the floor.
“Stay still,” Dean whispered. “I’ll try to find help.”
He limped over to the rune-covered pillar. Grimacing, he pulled his sword out and hobbled to Navarro’s body. Navarro lay on his back.
Dean looked down at his body. “I’ll tell everyone Navarro died a hero’s death.”
The end of the hall was no longer obscured by Volsur’s magic. Huge double doors stood open, and light streamed in. Dean walked through the doorway into the sunlit courtyard. Tears rolled down his face. In the middle of the walkway, he saw Han’s worn little shoe. He picked it up and put it in his jacket. The gravel crunched under his feet as he hurried down the path. He knew Oieda had barred the door, so he kept moving past the first hallway. He came to another corridor and started down it.
It was getting harder for him to breathe, but he pushed on. He could see the lights from the hall ahead. It was where Oieda and Bravic had made their final stand. He was loath to discover their fate. Dean stumbled into the hall; bodies were everywhere. Next to the barred door in the back of the hall, lying on the tile side by side, he saw Bravic and Oieda. Many more bodies were all around them.
Dean slowly walked forward. Bravic lay face down, and Oieda was on her side. He rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside her. He laid his hand on Oieda’s forehead; she was warm. As he rolled the Elf over, her eyes fluttered open. A faint smile came to her lips as she stared up at Dean.
“You did it,” she whispered.
“We did.”
She smiled weakly and closed her eyes.
Dean turned to Bravic, who lay in a pool of his own blood. He turned the Dwarf over and gasped at his blood-covered face and the wounds all over his chest. Bravic drew a ragged breath and mumbled something. Dean held the Dwarf. He felt cool to the touch.
Footsteps echoed at the beginning of the hall. With great effort, Dean forced himself to his feet.
“Hail!” a voice called out as many armored men rushed into view. “Are you one of Volsur’s?” a soldier demanded as he walked before the others.
“Volsur’s dead,” Dean called out through gritted teeth. “I killed him.”
A mighty cheer sprang from the mouths of the men. Two ran out of the hall, and the others surged forward.
“My friends are hurt.” Dean pointed to Bravic and Oieda. “Panadur and Carimus need help in the King’s Hall.”
“Panadur!” the man shouted and motioned to some men, who swung the double doors open and ran out of the hall. Others came to Bravic and Oieda. “They’ll be cared for along with the others.”
“What others?” Dean’s eyes blurred.
“The two we found,” the man said. “Near the Daehtar. Kala and the Elvana.”
“Are they alive?” Dean asked.
“Yes. They’re in the captain’s quarters.”
Dean’s sword slid from his hand. It clattered on the ground. “Help them,” Dean mumbled before he collapsed.
****
Dean awoke to singing outside his window. As he opened his eyes, the day’s events raced through his mind. Groaning, he sat up. All five of them were now in the room. His companions all lay sleeping; Bravic loudly snored. Dean slipped out of the bed and walked over to the window. He flung the shutters open and saw hundreds of people dancing in the sunlit streets.
“Dean,” Han whispered, “you’re awake. Carimus came by, but you were sleeping. He gave us all medicine then went back to the tower to take care of Panadur. He told us what happened with Volsur. I wish I’d been there, but Kala and I . . . Ow!” Han howled in pain when Bravic bounced a pillow off his bandaged head. “Bravic’s just mad because he can’t talk,” Han whispered as Bravic frowned deeply.
Dean looked at Oieda. She rolled over and opened her green eyes. Her dimple popped as she smiled at him. Dean’s knees went weak, but he wasn’t sure if it was from his recent brush with death or that dimple. He swallowed hard and sat on his bed.
“Breakfast is ready,” a heavyset woman announced as she carried in trays stacked on top of each other. Soon all five were devouring eggs, bacon, ham, and toast. Han would have outeaten everyone, but Kala ate enough for four.
“Well, anyway, Dean,” Han began as he pushed aside his plate, “when Kala and I were on that Daehtar thing, we smashed right t
hrough the roof of another building. That’s how Kala broke his arm. I think it snapped when he broke his fall on that thing’s neck. The Daehtar died when we hit. I was lucky I landed on top.”
“What happened with you, Oieda?” Dean asked.
“Bravic saved me from the Tearog.” She smiled at the Dwarf, who nodded his head. “The Ravinulk broke Bravic’s jaw, but he killed it. I managed to kill the Tearog, but then more Krulgs came into the hall,” Oieda explained. “When you killed Volsur . . .” she pressed her hand against her chest and shrugged, “you could just feel it. The new group of Krulgs must have sensed it too. They turned and bolted.”
“Carimus said it could be a few weeks before Bravic can speak again.” Han’s eyes went wide, and he gulped at the thought of not talking for that long.
“Well, he’ll have a lot of scars to be proud of now,” Oieda continued, “one across his ribs, that one on his shoulder, the scar under his chin, and the one running across the top of his head. Scars are a mark of honor. The Kilacouquen think they’re beautiful on a warrior.”
“Bravic has to be one beautiful Dwarf now,” Han giggled.
They all burst into laughter at the sight of Bravic scowling through clenched teeth while his cheeks turned bright red. The five laughed and joked all morning and well past lunch. As supper approached, Kala motioned Dean over to his bed, careful he didn’t wake the others who’d all fallen asleep.
“Dean, the people want you to be king,” he whispered with a broad grin.
“Me? King?” Dean laughed. “Sorry, I’m no king.”
“But the people need a leader.” Kala rose onto his elbows. “I’ve watched you. You’re brave. You did this with no thought of yourself. You should be king.”
“Isn’t there someone else you could get for the job? Like a real king?”
“The people want you. If you don’t choose to be king, then you must choose someone else.”
“They had a king before. Who’s the next person in line?” Dean wished there was some way out of making this choice.
“The captain of the guards. But you should choose who you feel is right.” Kala lay back down. “The people are hurting and so is the land. They need someone who’ll help heal them. Someone just and fair. You can be that man. There aren’t many who are not corrupted by power and greed. The best king is a servant king. One who would place the needs of the people above his own.”
PURE OF HEART Page 25