"Ayesha! That black-hearted..." Talar growled and slammed a fist into the wall. "She has taken to having her pet mages lead ambushes."
Carl watched the cringing servant with contempt. He found such cowardice almost vulgar. A man should meet fate head on, preferably with bared steel and a wild battle cry on his lips. No honor or glory in cowering, or running, before your enemies. In Carl's mind, the servant should have died with his sworn lord.
Turning to Carl, Talar warned, "Be vigilant, barbarian. Ayesha excels in the unexpected. She always attacks when it's least expected, from a quarter thought secure."
As if to confirm his warning, startled cries came from the street. The sound of steel blades crashing and men dying drifted over them. Within seconds the front door, oak, exploded inward, showering them in splinters. Talar whipped his sword out and set his feet to meet the onslaught as Carl pulled his battle-axe. Not waiting for the attack, Carl screamed a battle cry and charged the incoming group.
Bringing the wide, heavy battle-axe straight down on the first man through the door, Carl cleaved him in two. He kicked the next man back out the door and ducked beneath a sword thrust before several more bravos drove into him head on. Tripping over fragments of the door, he wrapped a powerful arm around a neck as he fell. The neck snapped with a sick sound as he hit the floor. Gathering the limp body up, he hurled it at the men moving in for the kill. Then he rolled back to his feet as Talar sent several thunderbolts into the group. One barely missed Carl, causing his hair on one arm to rise.
Godless, black-hearted wizards, he thought as he pounded a man in half plate armor to his knees. Then deftly separating man from sword, he drove the spike atop his axe into the hapless knight's eye. Then at the top of his lungs, "Bandu, save me from my own allies long enough to send these dogs to Tuunar!"
"Tuunar take you, warrior!" a woman shouted. She was tall and dark-haired, wearing dark blue robes.
She muttered a Word of Power and pointed a finger at Carl. He threw up his battle-axe as a blue eldritch bolt streaked at him. The axe took the full brunt of the attack, melting to slag in the process.
"Bloody dog loving witch!" Carl snarled, throwing the three foot wooden haft at her. The sorceress, distracted by a magical attack by Talar, failed to duck and took it in the temple. As she crumbled into a heap, Carl yelled. "Ha! Don't mess with me, wench."
Pulling his long sword, Carl glanced around at the melee in progress. A group of Talar's hired bravos attacked the rear of the raiders, but proved too few and were being cut down quickly. Talar was busy fighting off two bravos with sword, too pressed now for magic. However he looked to have the upper hand, so Carl turned his attention to the remaining intruders.
"Bandu, give them the strength and courage to make it worth my while," Carl bellowed. Then, swinging the long sword with both hands, he waded into the fray. They fell two and three at a time with every stroke. "Ha, ha, you sniveling dogs have the honor of being sent to Tuunar by Carl, the Laughingbear of legend. What an honor!" Suddenly spinning about to confront the wiry character ready to stab him in the back, he said, "Ah-ha, a backstabber! Take that!"
Carl's sword blasted through his pathetic defenses and sliced clean through his chest, separating his head and right arm from the rest of his body. Then, laughing with ruthless glee, Carl turned back on the others. Again, choosing brute strength over guile, he waded in swinging the huge sword like a sickle.
"Look at me!" he cried to the heavens. "I am the Reaper of Souls incarnate! Bloody terrifying sight, I reckon!"
"Great Gods, barbarian! Must you bellow so?" Talar cried, decapitating a man before disemboweling another on the backstroke.
By this time Carl had fought his way through the raiders and now was cutting off their retreat. He gave the street a quick look to ensure no one else waited outside before resuming his assault.
"Ho! Look at me, blocking you lads' only escape. The more woe for you!" he said, ignoring Talar. "Anyone care to have a go at me?"
While the five remaining raiders stared at the laughing barbarian with dread, Talar took the opportunity to cast a spell that dropped them all in their tracks. Carl immediately stopped laughing, casting baleful looks at the wizard. Damn him for spoiling the fun. He had needed a good fight for the last five months, what with the stress of looking for his missing friend and all.
Scowling, Carl said, "You're no fun, wizard."
Talar snorted his contempt as he looked his prisoners over. Apparently the sorceress was the only spellcaster among the attackers, the rest being common bravos for the most part. He then confused Carl by kneeling beside each and every unconscious and wounded bravo and placing a single finger on their foreheads. It wasn't until the third that Carl realized the wizard was killing them. He grimaced when he realized that Talar was draining them of their life energy to replenish his expended supply. He had need of it to fuel his magic.
While Carl cleaned his blade and pointedly ignored the wizard's obscene magical deeds, Talar stepped outside and examined the carnage. All his guards were dead, their bodies intermingled with dead raiders. Scowling at the bloody piles, he knew it would be even more difficult to replace them now. Talar already dreaded the upcoming trip to the Warriors Hall to recruit more men. He was quickly getting a reputation among the local bravos as an employer to avoid.
After a few minutes Carl came out and began searching the bodies. At first Talar didn't give it much thought, but then he notice the big barbarian was also searching the bodies of his men. Then, disgusted, he realized Carl was taking anything of value. Looting the dead.
"What are you doing?"
Not bothering to look up, "They have no need for this stuff. But I do."
"Looting the dead is obscene."
"It is no worse than killing them," Carl said. He gave the wizard a hard look, "Or stealing the bodies of innocents, just so you can better fight your enemies."
Talar stared narrowly at him a second. "Danic of Drakehorn could never be considered innocent. Not by any measure, but I forget who I'm dealing with. You're a barbarian and a mercenary. Killing and looting is all your feeble mind understands."
"'Feeble mind?'" Carl repeated incredulously. "You wasn't calling me feeble-minded when I..." He stopped, frowning. Just for an instant he had forgotten that the man before him wasn't Danic, but Talar. A wizard. A man he had no common memories with. Snorting, he returned to searching the bodies. "It's my talent at bladework that's keeping you alive, wizard."
"Perhaps," he said, then turned back into the mansion.
Carl continued on, taking anything that could easily be carried upon his person, such as coins and jewelry. When he finished, he went back inside. Talar was just then exiting through another door with the limp form of the sorceress thrown over his shoulder. Carl followed him down to his laboratory. He watched silently as the wizard quickly gagged her, then spoke a Word of Power and caused her to suddenly fly up against the wall. She was magically held spread-eagle as he cast another spell that caused her hands and feet to melt into the stone wall. Carl was impressed.
Looking back at Carl, he smiled. "Now our friend isn't a threat."
Not wanting to give the wizard credit for anything, Carl simply nodded. "Now we question her?"
"That we do," Talar said, grim-faced. "But first."
The wizard sat cross-legged before her, closed his eyes, and began a low chant. Carl watched in fascination as Talar mumbled and drew elaborate designs in the air, many of which sent disturbing chills through him, while the sorceress began moaning and writhing. Then Talar stood and grabbed her head in both hands as they began to glow with blue eldritch flames. The sorceress's eyes popped open, full of terror, but unable to struggle. All she could manage was a strangled gasp.
"There," Talar said, releasing her and stepping back. "Now she is totally helpless." He gave Carl one of Danic's wolfish grins, "I just stripped her of all her magic knowledge and protective wards. Her personal wards were very powerful and difficult to unravel. Bu
t now she couldn't cast a spell if her life depended on it."
"Bloody great," Carl said, despite his best effort to remain impassive. "Magic is honorless." Giving Talar a steady look, "As are its practitioners."
Talar's eyes narrowed, but then he turned back to the wild-eyed sorceress. Sweat was beginning to pop out on her forehead and upper lip. He could see her body racked from time to time with tremors. She, even more than the barbarian, understood what had happened to her, and what would happen to her. It was every spellcaster's worst nightmare to fall to another spellcaster and be taken alive.
Removing the gag, Talar asked, "Your name?"
The sorceress acted as if she'd spit back some defiant jab, but stopped herself. "I...I am Velecia."
"Velecia of Blanka? The Blankan High Mage?" he said.
"Yes."
"Ayesha's influence expands," he said darkly, falling into deep thought. After a moment he began to scrutinize her. Finally, "Ayesha's put some kind of loyalty geas on you."
"Geas?" Carl said.
"A spell of compulsion," Talar explained. "They are rarely used, being inherently unstable and short lived."
"I didn't think such a thing could be done to a sorceress," Carl said.
"It can be done to anyone," he said, his gaze not leaving Velecia. "Only it's more difficult with a spellcaster. A witch can't bespell sorceress, for example. At least not with this type of spell. A geas can only be placed on someone less powerful that the mage casting the spell."
"Like a warrior with a bronze blade can't defeat an equally powerful warrior armed with a steel blade," Carl said, nodding.
Talar shrugged, "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way." Turning back to the sorceress, he changed his perspective to study Velecia with mage sight. Never had he seen such complexity and tightness of "weave" in a spell. "This geas seems beyond even Ayesha's talents. It looks more like God Magic."
A sneer crept across Velecia's face, "That's right, Talar. Ayesha has brought several Gods into the alliance and now has their priesthoods and powers to back her up."
"Gods?" That revelation was disturbing, to say the least. Even he, an Arch Wizard, couldn't fight a God. Ayesha with godlike powers was not something he had considered. "Which ones?"
With a smug smile, Velecia replied. "You'll find out soon enough."
Talar sent a bolt of lightning into the defiant sorceress. She threw her head back and screamed. When she still refused to answer, he sent another and another. And when that failed to loosen her tongue, he conjured up a demon.
Carl held up the hand-sign of Bandu to ward off evil.
The demon was as ugly a creature as he had ever encountered. It had mottled, slimy gray skin, bulging orange, slit-pupiled eyes, and a long, fang-lined snout. At Talar's command, it began raking the screaming sorceress's flesh with wicked, razor sharp talons while savaging her with its fangs. She quickly became a bloody mess. Carl was amazed she was still alive.
"Which Gods are Ayesha's patrons?" Talar demanded again. When she again refused to answer, he signaled the demon. It disemboweled her with a sweep of its hand and buried its head up the rend to its shoulders as it began to chew on her internal organs. "Care to answer now?"
"YES!"
The demon vanished. Talar stepped up close to the bloody and bleeding woman, her bowels hanging obscenely from her violated belly. Carl noticed the smile of satisfaction spreading across the wizard's face.
Wizards! Tuunar take them all, Carl thought, aghast at what he had witnessed. Honorless, black-hearted beasts.
Enemy or not, Carl was a warrior and thought the sorceress had fought well and deserved a better death than what she was receiving. He recognized that torture had its place, but still found it despicable.
"Name them," Talar said.
She seemed to compose herself with great difficulty. Carl had the impression she was a woman of intense pride. But even so, when she spoke it was little more than a hoarse whisper.
"Garn..."
"The God of Beasts?"
"...Dirusa..."
"Great Gods!" Carl cried. "The Goddess of Hate and Vengeance."
"And assassins," Talar added, remembering all the assassination attempts lately. Then to Velecia, "Continue."
Carl gave the dying sorceress a doubtful look. He wasn't sure she would still be able to speak, or think straight if she could. It was a wonder she was still alive at all. He idly wondered if Talar was somehow keeping her alive magically.
But she did manage to croak out, "The only other Gods I know of are the Four Sisters."
"It figures," Talar said, turning his back on her. Velecia visibly relaxed and went slack. "The Four Sisters have been trying to gain greater influence and worshippers for centuries. They are all too eager to trade power to anyone promising them what they want. But they are only minor Goddesses, hardly worth worrying about."
Carl doubted that, but kept his thoughts to himself. Indeed, even he knew that Aroo, Basnoon, Symona, and Zymar, called the Four Winds by the northern nomads and Tyrian barbarians, and the Four Sisters by the Amazons and Jarlanders, were low in the Arisen hierarchy. Outside of the nomads of the steppes and deserts, few worshipped them regularly. Their powers were limited by not having many worshippers.
"But Garn and Dirusa is powerful," Carl said.
Garn, God of Beasts, was known to be a bitter God. It was he who started the infamous Temple Wars that so devastated all the civilized lands. He created a rift within the Arisen pantheon few understood, but all feared. He, like the Four Winds, was not worshipped by many. Though, at one time he had enjoyed one of the strongest followings. It appeared he was taking measures to rebuild that following.
Dirusa on the other hand was worshipped by many, though still considered a Goddess of little influence among her fellows. But the people feared her. They only visited her temple when they wanted revenge on someone. She was known as a Goddess who deeply resented the popularity of the other Gods, particularly her twin sister, Lyss, Goddess of Love and Pleasure.
"True. We will have to be careful." Turning back to the sorceress, Talar began, "Velecia, tell me...Damn! She died."
Carl barely gave her a glance. Instead, he was already considering strategies and tactics he would need to defend Talar from his enemies, now even more powerful than at first thought. Fighting magic was a dangerous thing. Fighting Gods was suicidal.
"Do you have an armory, wizard?"
Talar turned back to him, "No. Why?"
"I need to replace my battle-axe," he said. "But I know a good armorer in Allaria. While you clean up here, I'll go on over and buy another."
Grunting loudly, "A battle-axe won't do you much good against Ayesha."
Carl gave him a grim smile. "It served me well today."
"Luck, that's all. You'll need more than that in the future," he said. After a moment of consideration, "Go and buy your axe, but leave your hauberk. I'll place a spell on it that will help protect you from magic."
Carl hesitated, not wanting to soil good mail with foul magic. But the thought of facing wizards, and possibly Gods, made him reconsider. Magic, after all, was only a tool, like a sword, and only as good or evil as its wielder. Right?
Then he glanced at the still bleeding form of the sorceress, embedded in the stone wall of Talar's laboratory. The sight reminded him how insidious magic-users could be, and how terribly dangerous.
Bandu, forgive me.
Carl loosened the bindings, bent over, and shook the heavy armor off before departing. He might let Talar enchant it, but he didn't have to witness the foul ceremony.
* * * * *
Maeve looked at Royal Palace with dread, though her last mission went especially well. Behind its somber facade lay her mistress, Ayesha White Rose, High Mage of Allaria. The woman who in effect had magically enslaved her with a powerful geas. Maeve was helpless but to obey the demanding High Mage to the letter.
Taking a last deep steadying breath, she strode across the plaza toward the main
entrance. The palace was Allaria's seat of power, home to King Victor and Queen Sarisse. Ayesha's suite was on the first level below ground, above the palace dungeons. It was the first palace Maeve ever had total freedom of movement within. Her fortune was within reach, begging to be taken. As she stepped before the massive oaken doors, she cursed the geas that kept her greedy fingers off all the priceless treasures within its environs.
"Back so soon, Sorceress Maeve?" Corporal Ethan said.
Maeve noted with silent pleasure that all six men stationed at the entrance covertly admired her form. The Corporal was the most obvious, but knew his place. Though, he mostly looked at her chest.
"I do not waste my mistress's time lightly," Maeve said. She let her gaze linger on Corporal Ethan a moment, just long enough for him to understand she shared his interest. She wanted to cover all avenues, in case Ayesha's plans went awry. Besides, if she got in good with the palace guards, she might make a future visit here when the geas was no longer in place. "Even so, I fear my mistress won't be satisfied. Some people just can't be satisfied."
The guards all nodded in agreement. Maeve smiled, knowing she had further endeared herself to them. Now they were kindred spirits, despite her more lofty status as a Court Mage.
Maeve motioned for the door, and Corporal Ethan personally opened it for her. She smiled her thanks as she entered, winking mischievously when only he could see. In good spirits, Maeve proceeded to Ayesha's laboratory.
The trip through the opulent white marble halls was quick. She soon found herself outside the laboratory door, wishing she were anywhere else. Steeling herself, she rapped sharply three times. Within seconds the door was opened by Kylar, Ayesha's Vikon bodyguard.
Maeve had met the ponytailed bodyguard while she was masquerading as a Vikon witch, before being captured and turned over to Ayesha. He was tall and exceptionally well developed. His dark eyes punctuated his fierce eaglelike face paint, taking Maeve's breath away whenever she made the mistake of looking too deep into them. They left her feeling chilled. His only clothes were bright red leather pants and boots. And as was the way of the Vikon, his armor was almost contemptuous in its brevity, being only a pair of black-lacquered shoulder plates held secure by leather straps crisscrossing his upper body.
Into Lands Forbidden (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 2) Page 3