Hunched against the cold hard flagstones, Tyler’s eyes lingered on Parlan’s face as the light from the sconce flickered across it. His friend looked drawn and haggard, which, under the circumstances, was only to be expected. At least he was still alive. It had preyed heavily on Tyler’s mind they might have been too late, and that Tobyn had ordered his death immediately upon his capture. He wondered about the extent of Tobyn’s influence on Kaleb; had he persuaded him to raise the taxes and confiscate the land belonging to anyone that could not or would not pay. Prior to leaving the castle with his parents, he had heard rumours, which made him wonder if the younger prince had actually planned the murders and the following tyranny himself. But the sorcerer had always led Kaleb, since he had concocted potions to relieve the boy’s suffering. The younger prince had never been in the best of health. Parlan broke into Tyler’s daydreaming. “I had almost given up hope of rescue until you two turned up,” he said, “and no matter what happens when we face Tobyn and my dear brother, I want you both to know how grateful I am. There are not many people who would risk their lives to save a friend.” “There are many who believe in your innocence,” smiled Tyler, “but your brother has proclaimed that to mention your name will end in trial and execution. The servants who helped us are on your side, but if we cannot defeat Tobyn and place the crown on your head, then not only will our lives be forfeit, but anyone who helped us will be hunted down and duly dealt with.” “I think we should leave the confines of this passage,” interrupted Nemeila. “If we are caught here, there’s very little room for manoeuvre. I should tell you both,” she continued haltingly, “that Tobyn has the ability to track me down through my thoughts, and I know it can only be a matter of time before he finds us. We must find a place where we can make a stand when he comes to us, somewhere open where we can fight, not confined like birds in a cage and at his mercy.” “You’re right,” nodded Parlan, “I’ll see if the corridor is clear, then we can make our way to the Trophy Room, it’s as good a place as any to confront my brother and his puppeteer.”
Having closed the hinged section of wall behind them, they crept fearfully along the corridor leading to the Trophy Room. As they rounded a bend, five soldiers waited, swords drawn. There was no time to awaken the amulet as the soldiers attacked. Parlan parried a blow, and rounded his fist to strike the man on the jaw; he collapsed on the flagstone floor. “Don’t kill them,” he shouted to Tyler, “I’m sure it’s only Tobyn’s influence that has turned them into our assassins.” Two soldiers received disabling wounds to their sword arms, but the man who stood against Parlan was an excellent swordsman. Parlan’s recent imprisonment had weakened him and his own strength and ability were now being tested to the limit.
“No fleeing prisoner would hesitate to kill anyone standing in the way of his freedom,” gasped the man between blows. “Why should you care about us when we have been ordered to take you dead or alive?” “I am no murderer,” rasped Parlan, almost out of breath, as he deflected a blow aimed at his head. “Whatever the rumours, I did not kill my father, more likely the man who commands you now.” The soldier stepped away from Parlan’s blade, impressed by his apparent sincerity, then lowered his own. “Hold your sword,” he instructed the other soldier, “this man may have been falsely accused. On your way, boy, but if I find you have lied and made a fool of me, I will seek you out and not put up my sword a second time.” “I will not forget this,” vowed Parlan, sheathing his weapon. Tyler grabbed Nemeila’s arm and dragged her along the corridor, leaving the soldiers to help their fallen comrades. They tumbled headlong into the Trophy Room relieved to find an empty, trouble free room. “Tyler and I will take up positions on the far side of that table; at least we will have something, even if it’s just a small something, between us and him.” “For the first time in my life, I feel truly afraid,” confessed Tyler. “It is not the fear of death itself, but what torment he may inflict on us before he has us killed.” “I have thought of nothing else but this moment,” said Parlan, attempting to instil bravery into his voice, “ever since I was arrested for my father’s murder. But now the time has come, I will either die defending my honour, or we will win back my throne and you will both have the rewards you so deserve, as will all those who helped us this day.”
Tobyn left Kaleb in a furious mood. The younger prince paced the length of his study, scowling and muttering to himself about all the pain and misfortune he planned to heap on Parlan’s head, should he dare to confront him. If worst came to the worst, he would blame the magician. If Parlan managed to dispose of Tobyn, then no real blame could be attached to him; he could say he had literally been spell bound, his mind controlled by another. Consoled by the thought of lying himself out of trouble, he relaxed in one of the luxurious armchairs to await the outcome.
Tobyn strode, barely containing his rage, along deserted corridors until he encountered the five soldiers who had confronted the fleeing prisoner.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
The captain glanced at his men, before stammering in fear, “They m-managed to escape, m-my lord.”
“Escape!” he hissed coldly. “Then why are you not dead or injured like these other men?”
“I, err, don’t know, my lord,” the man lowered his gaze, trying to hide from the blazing malevolence in the eyes searching his soul.
“Did you think I would be pleased to hear this news? You have failed me and failure comes at a price.”
Tobyn’s jet black eyes clouded over, he blinked to reveal a blue fire glowing in their depths. He clenched his fists before turning his hands palms upward. Blue energy crackled and fizzed on the upturned palms, which he threw like spears of lightning at the two unwounded soldiers. The two men shrieked as azure fire engulfed their bodies, and gasping to draw breath that would not come, they crashed to their knees. As they grovelled on the flagstones, trying to beat out the flames, their bodies began to shrink, until all that could be seen was the charred clothing they had been wearing. A twitching movement wrinkled the cloth and two whiskered sniffing noses appeared, followed by small brown bodies and long hairless tails; the two rats looked quickly about them then scurried to the far shadows.
“If you are lucky, you will escape the claws of the castle’s cats. If not, a fitting death for two traitors.” Satisfied, Tobyn continued on his way to keep his appointment with the thorns in his flesh.
The door to the Trophy Room slammed back against the wall, the crash echoing around the otherwise silent chamber. Nemeila’s indrawn breath stayed in her lungs as Tobyn passed her by, heading straight to where Tyler and Parlan stood. He leant heavily on the table, smiling sardonically, his eyes aglow with the remnants of the blue fire. “Where did you think you might hide from me, children?” Tobyn sneered. “Wherever you run, I can search you out with my mind; even smell you, when I get close enough. I should have poisoned you along with your father, but that would have been quick and painless, before I am finished with you now, you will beg for mercy, and die screaming for your mothers.”
“So you admit you killed my father?” Parlan asked, trying to keep his trembling voice firm. “And my mother, did you have her killed too?”
“Your mother had outlived her usefulness. She turned your father into a cowering wimp; the people revered her like a goddess, instead of reviling her like the peasant girl she was. She made me sick! Yes, I killed her, and she died an agonising, drawn out death at the bottom of those stone steps. Your father bucked up and showed great promise after that, but then you started to interfere, you annoying little whelp. You undermined my advice and persuaded him to be lenient with the peasants that couldn’t pay their taxes on time, so he became too popular. While he lived, there would be peace in the land, which didn’t suit me at all. But your younger brother has the courage to carry out my will, and when you die, he will lead this land into the bitterest war that has ever been fought. All the landowners will be brought to their knees by taxation; they either pay it or die. The people will rise
and take arms against the monarchy, and the survivors will hail me as their saviour. Simple, isn’t it?” Parlan’s hatred of Tobyn burned in his eyes, as he glanced fleetingly at Tyler. “If the people revolt, what will happen to you?” asked Tyler. “Surely you can’t live in the middle of a battle zone.” He was playing for time, trying to delay what he knew would be a painful death. “There is nothing that can harm me. In any event, I will be well away from the fighting. When I take control of the land and give the people peace and prosperity I will be treated like a God, which is, after all, no more or less than I deserve.” He raised his arms theatrically but both Parlan and Tyler stood unflinching, defying the master sorcerer his moment of glorious victory. Suddenly remembering his third enemy, he demanded, “Where is the girl?” A voice from behind spun him on his heels. “Here!” she said. With her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she finally faced the man who had killed her blood father, and who now wanted her death. She knew that should she not defeat him, not only would many innocent people die in his vile and bloody war, but her real mother’s life would also be forfeit. “So, you are Ilanthia’s daughter, my dear. It will be a pity to kill such a pretty little girl, but a promise is a promise. As you scream for mercy, your mother will feel your agony tear at her soul, and when I next see her, I will give her your heart in a casket.” Tobyn smiled, evil blooming in his black eyes.
Tyler and Parlan made to rush the sorcerer, but he raised the palm of his hand towards them. A shimmering glow sizzled in the space between them, and absorbed the two lads, who suddenly found themselves, paralysed. Their sight and hearing were unimpaired, but their legs and arms felt as though they were set in stone.
“I will deal with you after you have watched me kill your meddlesome friend,” he speared Nemeila with his burning gaze, remembering his oath to Ilanthia.
He conjured up the spitting azure energy to strike her down, and with a swooping gesture, his arms directed the full force of his power at the girl.
During Tobyn’s malevolent diatribe, Nemeila had awakened the power of the stones in her amulet. Once more she sensed in her mind the melody as they coalesced to aid her in her hour of need. As the energy erupted from Tobyn’s fingertips, she created a ward as a barrier against it. The barrier intercepted the force and in a thundering flash like a firework display, dispersed it in all directions. Tobyn reeled in shocked dismay that she had survived, but he quickly recovered and attacked again. This time the energy bolt knocked her down, but still did not harm her. She scrambled to her feet and asked mockingly, “Is that the best you can do? I have seen small children throw stones at ducks with more force than that.”
Tobyn curled his upper lip in a repellent snarl as he began to conjure the powers again. “You will not defeat me,” he barked, “I have lived too long to be thwarted by a mere slip of a girl. You might have inherited your mother’s abilities, but the regeneration pod on the ship has enhanced not only my life span, but also all the power, knowledge and strength that I possess. This time you will die, and for your impudence in opposing me, it will be slow and painful. Before I finally kill you, I want your mother to feel the grief of losing a daughter and for your two friends here to witness what awaits them shortly.” His words terrified her, he was right, she was just a child and that last bolt of energy had all but drained her. For a brief moment she closed her eyes while she drew upon her inner strengths, before engaging the flaming death-black eyes of the man threatening them all. She channelled her mind to connect with his, in order to gain a split second advantage in knowing exactly when and how he would strike next. Tobyn had no knowledge of this ability, nor that she’d also undergone a time in the life-enhancing pod. Although he had expected her to try and defeat him with conjury, he was taken aback that she had survived his attack. Telepathically, she anticipated his next strike, and as he thrust his hands towards her, she raised her own; a green shimmering curtain spiralled up before her. The fizzing lightning released by Tobyn struck the iridescent shield, and for a moment it seemed as though time had halted in its tracks. Nemeila concentrated her mind and urged, with every ounce of strength she had left in her body, her ward to reject the sorcerer’s energy bolt. The air ignited with the luminosity of a thousand candles. Parlan and Tyler closed their eyes to escape the flaring light before them. Nemeila pushed harder with her mind and the blazing ball of energy was thrust cartwheeling back towards Tobyn. Tobyn was stunned at the girl’s strength, the terrible knowledge striking him that he had underestimated the girl and had not prepared enough to win this battle. As the force stuck him an intense radiance engulfed his body and a bloodcurdling scream tore at the very fabric of the walls as pain wracked his body, surging through muscle and sinew and coursing through his blood vessels; then he was no longer standing before her. For several heartbeats, Nemeila stood unmoving, unable to comprehend that the man she had loathed and feared was dead, blown away. She crossed the space to Parlan and Tyler and, closing her eyes once more, held her hands out towards the shimmering light imprisoning her friends. She swiftly broke the ward that held them spellbound and the two lads rushed to offer her protection should the magician return.
“Is he dead?” asked Tyler, glancing suspiciously into all four corners of the room.
“I certainly hope so,” Nemeila sighed, “I don’t want to go through that again.”
“No ordinary girl could have stood up to such power,” said Parlan, studying the young girl before him. “Who are you really?”
“I am just a woodsman’s daughter,” she replied, smiling artlessly. “I suppose I was lucky that I learned a little about conjury.”
Parlan was not convinced, but now was not the time to probe it further.
“We may have got rid of the magician, but you are still a wanted criminal; an escaped prisoner with a death warrant on your head.” She could not understand why no one had come in response to the sorcerer’s blood-curdling cry. “We’ll have to leave the castle and get help to clear your name.”
“The magistrate is an honest and honourable man. I will surrender myself to him. He alone will then hold the fate of the land in his hands. It will be his decision whether I am crowned King, or cast back into the dungeons.”
What they could not possibly know as they quit the room was that Tobyn still lived. Aware of his inability to better his opponent, he transformed himself into a blowfly the instant before his spell rebounded upon him. No one in the room saw, or would have thought anything of it if they had, the lowly creature crawl through a window slit and fly away to safety.
Not being the size of blowflies themselves meant that leaving the castle was going to be harder than getting in. Kaleb had instructed that the drawbridge was to remain in the upright position due to a threat to his life from those loyal to his imprisoned brother. He now had only a few days remaining before his sixteenth birthday, when he would be crowned the rightful king of Kallopia. He wanted nothing to stand in the way of that, but now everything he had dreamed about was rapidly crumbling before his eyes. He had placed all his faith in the magician to aid him in the pursuit of his dream, but now it seemed that even the great and powerful Tobyn was at risk from his brother’s followers. Kaleb sat in grim silence as he tried desperately to fabricate a plausible excuse for not attempting to clear his brother’s name at the outset. Then there were the barons and landowners he had evicted from their homes and estates for not paying the new taxes. He had made gifts of those to his own followers, thus ensuring their support in his bid for power. Now, if Parlan escaped and the truth was revealed, all he had worked hard for would be lost; his hated brother had to be stopped. Summoning the guards on watch outside his room, he ordered them to locate and despatch the fleeing traitor and all those who had aided him. The guards, eager to keep in favour with the soon to be king, rushed to do their duty.
Secreted in a doorway, they observed the guards on duty beside the tightly closed drawbridge, monitoring all who wished to enter or leave the castle. “We must secure a horse and find
a way of lowering the drawbridge,” whispered Tyler to Parlan. “You are right, the magistrate is the only man in the realm who has enough clout to sway the people to your side; without his patronage, your brother will, I am sure, have you killed and put out of the way like your father.”
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 18