Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “But you don’t understand,” Mune replied. “You don’t know who this man is!” He stepped closer to Leo and locked gazes with him for several tense moments.

  “Then why don’t you tell him?” Leo challenged.

  “Oh, I plan to, sir! I plan to.”

  “Mune, I know all about their journey to find Frist,” Vellan said. “I detected that wizard’s arrogant stench all over them before they even stepped foot inside.”

  Mune edged closer to Vellan. “But you don’t understand my meaning, with all due respect. That man,” he said, shakily pointing a finger at Leo, “is the individual who opened the Spirit Box. He’s the one I had fought with in the Citadel, though at the time I didn’t know his name. I just assumed he was a member of the King’s Guard.”

  Vellan stared at Mune, not fully comprehending what he had just heard. But as the realization sank in, he was taken aback and slowly shifted his icy gaze toward Leo. “Is this true?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Leo’s heart beat wildly as Vellan awaited a response. “Yes, I opened the Spirit Box,” he admitted, “and happily did so for the sake of Laparia. And particularly for one of King Justin’s guardsmen, a loyal soldier whom he killed with a knife to the back.” He pointed at Mune with contempt. “And I’d do it again without hesitation.”

  “Oh, would you?” Vellan sputtered, shaking for a moment before he walked to the fireplace to warm himself, clutching his staff. “Valiant words from a simple apple grower!”

  “Unlike the poisonous words from a misguided wizard,” Nicholas jumped in.

  “Watch your tongue!” Madeline snapped, hurrying to Vellan’s side and pulling out a chair for him to sit upon.

  “I’m fine!” he told her with a brush of his hand before turning to Nicholas. “You know nothing of the power or intentions of either me or my race, Mr. Raven. That is beyond your comprehension.”

  “I know that all of you in this room have disgraced yourselves by the things you’ve done to the people of Laparia,” he replied. “And you’re unaware of the names and faces of most of those you’ve hurt, nor even care since others do your bidding.” Nicholas looked around the room as the flames crackled and the pot of lamb stew bubbled, its sweet aroma wafting through the chamber. “Everything is pleasant inside this mountain while war rages below and others pay the price. But win or lose, I’m guessing you’ll do just fine in the end unlike those who wield a sword in your name.”

  Vellan scowled. “Moralize all you want, but I’m in control. And in matters of war, that is all that matters. Yet if I lose the final battle, remember this–I will have a victory regardless because my soldiers will fight until the very last one of them is dead. There’ll be no surrender on my side, so even if King Justin manages to declare victory, there’ll be so few of his men left alive that it will be a hollow triumph. The nations of Laparia will be stunted for generations because the King of Arrondale was too stubborn to create an alliance with me years ago.” He smiled, satisfied that Nicholas and Leo appeared to grudgingly accept the truth of his prediction.

  “King Justin will not relent in this battle, nor will the citizens of Laparia during its aftermath,” Nicholas said.

  “Your King may be on his way over here as we speak, so your words might be a bit premature,” Vellan replied. “And when he arrives, Mr. Raven, you can have the honor of watching him receive a just punishment right before I hand down yours.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “You and others have kept me away from Ivy for more days than I can count. You can’t do anything worse to me than what you’ve already done.”

  “Really?” Vellan stepped away from the fire and walked toward him. “As punishment for helping to destroy the Enâri, I’m not sure if I should force you to drink from the Drusala River or push you in it myself. But after you’ve pledged your eternal devotion to me, I’ll have you slay the beautiful Ivy to prove your loyalty.”

  Nicholas shuddered. “You’re sick!” he said with defiance, though a growing horror enveloped his heart as he imagined being helplessly subjected to Vellan’s will.

  “Or instead, maybe I could have you watch as Ivy consumes the nourishing river water and becomes my eternal servant,” he continued, goading Nicholas. “And when you realize that the love of your life no longer has feelings for you, and you are grief stricken by the knowledge that that will be the final state of her existence, only then will I have you killed as your last fleeting thought will be of her demise. A fitting end, don’t you think?”

  “He doesn’t know what to think,” Madeline remarked.

  “Then I will make the decision and spare him further suspense,” the wizard replied, tightening his grip upon the oak staff. “And though both options have a delectable twist, I will choose the latter for this simple reason.” Nicholas remained silent, teetering between paralyzed revulsion and the urge to lunge at Vellan despite the deadly consequences. “If I make you kill Ivy while you’re under my enchantment, it will mean nothing to your heart as your feelings for the girl will have been wiped away. Since I’ll derive no satisfaction from that, Mr. Raven, you will instead be condemned to watch helplessly as the woman you love falls completely under my sway–and then you can die. Her submission to me will be the last thing on your mind as you draw your final breath, though it will hardly make up for your heinous crime.”

  As Vellan and Madeline exchanged smiles of vindication, Caldurian and Mune looked on with mixed emotions. Nicholas and Leo glanced at one another with concern, realizing that they must act soon before Vellan’s crazed words turned into actual deeds.

  “And as for you,” Vellan continued, turning to Leo, “I have saved the best for last.” His stony expression matched the hard edge to his voice. “I had never expected to avenge the individual who opened the Spirit Box, assuming that King Justin randomly assigned one of his guards to do the deed. I thought I’d have to be content only punishing others from your conspiracy who had found their way here, such as Carmella, Mr. Raven and yourself, and perhaps in time, King Justin. But even with that, I still thought long about what I’d do if I ever confronted the loathsome being who murdered my Enâri servants, who ended their lives with the turn of a key.”

  “Did you come up with an answer?” Leo asked unflinchingly.

  “Oh, I did,” he replied, unaffected by Leo’s bravado. “It took me some time to devise the perfect solution, but it was well worth the many hours I pondered over the matter and the subsequent days I utilized to craft the perfect spell for my purpose.”

  “Can’t wait to hear about it sometime,” Leo lightly remarked.

  “Or maybe I can show you now!” Vellan pointed the gnarled tip of his staff at Leo as if he had drawn a sword. “Thálos weda nón!” he cried out, sending Leo reeling backward through the air and crashing against a wooden shelf by the archway where he dropped to the floor in a motionless heap.

  “Leo!” Nicholas ran to his friend and knelt at his side. When he saw Leo’s eyes were closed and placed a hand upon his cold, pale face, he feared the worst. He immediately imagined Princess Megan anxiously wandering the corridors of the Blue Citadel while awaiting Leo’s return that would never be. He turned and glared at Vellan, his chest tightening, his mind boiling with hate. “What have you done to him?” he shouted. “Tell me!”

  “I have given your friend what he truly deserves,” Vellan replied. “A fitting conclusion to his wretched life.”

  CHAPTER 107

  Strategic Maneuvers

  Fighting continued near the garrison, but the battle gradually spread out into the adjacent lanes and along the banks of the Drusala River. The enemy troops who had earlier descended from the rooftop now filtered out into Del Norác. Eucádus, blaming himself for King Justin’s abduction, wielded his sword with an unnatural ferocity by the garrison’s northeast corner. Ramsey and several other soldiers alongside him, held onto the slim hope that they could rescue the King of Arrondale. And though their hearts were heavy with the near impossibil
ity of the task, a fresh sense of optimism soon arrived. Horses rumbled up the main road from the west as the sun dipped closer to the golden, snow-tipped peaks looming in the background.

  Eucádus spun around and noted a familiar face leading the horsemen who struck down and scattered the enemy troops in their path. Framed in the setting sunlight, Prince Gregory and his men joined in the fray as cheers broke out to welcome them. Eucádus and Ramsey greeted the prince after wading through the chaos, delighted at his return yet dreading the news they had to report.

  “Welcome back,” Eucádus said as a clash of swords raged around them, only now the enemy was at a disadvantage. “Was your assault on the western district a success?”

  “Indeed, but with much effort,” the prince replied, his face coated with dust and sweat. He briefly told how he and his men had driven a large contingent of Vellan’s forces west after the initial charge into Del Norác. “We battled near one of the armories, and when it was over, the building lay in a smoking heap. Unopened crates of swords and bows were destroyed in a fire and will never get a chance to be used against us.”

  “For that we are thankful,” Eucádus said, ready to inform him of the King’s abduction. Prince Gregory, however, beat him to the punch.

  “Tell me, where is my father? I wish to speak with him.” But when he saw Eucádus and Ramsey’s joyful smiles quickly melt away, he knew that something terrible had occurred. He dismounted and locked upon their troubled gazes. “I see there is bad news you are at pains to reveal. Is my father dead?”

  “Perhaps worse,” Eucádus replied apprehensively.

  As he was about to explain, a loud, discordant horn blasted several times from above which caused a stir among the combatants on both sides. Men hurriedly flocked toward the southeast corner of the garrison alongside the river as wild rumors regarding King Justin and his captors spread through the crowd.

  “I think we’re about to find out,” the prince remarked. He mounted his steed and urged his friends to follow him around the corner of the building to the river. There, a crowd had gathered west of the central bridge, their eyes raised to the garrison rooftop.

  Four stories up, several men in Vellan’s army looked down on the growing throng. All had ceased fighting for the moment, gazing hypnotically above as a soldier on the roof sounded the horn one last time. Two others proudly held up the flags of Kargoth flapping wildly in the wind. The commander in charge stepped forward, his smug smile accented by a pair of dark eyes clouded with Vellan’s watery spell. A handful of others stood behind him, and among them, a struggling individual whose face remained hidden.

  “Now that I have everyone’s attention, I will make a brief announcement,” the commander shouted down loudly enough to be heard over the breeze and the distant fighting. “I am Luboc, commander of the Del Norác garrison. To all the brave men of Kargoth, our Island allies and those from the surrounding mountain nations who have joined our cause, I thank you for your spirited defense of this great realm!” He proudly smiled as his troops below cheered. “But I wish to end this war. So to the men of Arrondale, Drumaya and all the kingdoms of the north who have disrupted our peaceful way of life, I say to you this–for the sake of your families back home, lay down your arms and retreat from this land and bother us no more.”

  “Just like you have never bothered us?” a soldier from Rhiál shouted up. “How many widows and orphans have you already created among our people?”

  Luboc raised a hand. “I’ll attribute such scurrilous comments to your ignorance about the cause of recent, deadly events throughout Laparia. As you know, King Justin instigated the conflicts in the region, attributing his troublemaking to Vellan. He goaded good people like you into believing such nonsense and joining his fight. But perhaps we can end this violence once and for all.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Ramsey whispered to Eucádus as they stood among a crowd near the river.

  “Nor do I. His words remind me of Irabesh.” Eucádus spotted Prince Gregory several yards ahead upon his horse, surrounded by some of his men. “And I suspect that the prince will not be pleased by his speech either.”

  “If you desire peace, draw back your lines,” Luboc continued, scanning the crowd until he spotted Prince Gregory, noting the royal markings of Arrondale on his vestments. “Prince Gregory, will you accept my offer and spare your troops more injury and death? Or will you erode their dwindling numbers just to make a hollow point?”

  “Do not expect us to make a hasty exit for your convenience, Luboc. My men know and follow the orders of King Justin,” he replied with confidence. “Now enough stalling. What have you done with my father?”

  Luboc looked closely at the prince, clearly noting the resolve upon his face even from four stories up. “So, I take it that you will not accept my generous terms.”

  “No,” he replied, leaning back in his saddle. “We’ll accept only your defeat.”

  “Duly noted. And as to your inquiry, your father is well. In fact, he was kind enough to join our little gathering up here.”

  Luboc pointed to the man who had been struggling among the other soldiers. And though his face was not visible, most who were near enough below could distinguish the individual’s shortly cropped silvery hair and see flashes of Arrondale’s royal markings upon his outer garment, giving them no doubt that King Justin was still alive.

  “Release him at once,” Prince Gregory demanded with calm authority, “or even Vellan will not be able to save your wretched life when I get through with you.”

  “You are hardly in a position to make threats as I am quite safe inside this garrison while you and your men are not.” Vellan’s troops erupted in laughter, prompting a modest bow of self-congratulations from Luboc. “But since you insist that I release your father, I will do the gentlemanly thing and accede to your wish.”

  Luboc signaled to his men. They ushered their prisoner to the edge of the rooftop facing the Drusala River. Prince Gregory’s heart froze when he realized what was happening, and though he couldn’t see his father’s face with the other men surrounding him, he imagined with great pain what King Justin must be thinking as the dark waters of the Drusala flowed past him far below.

  “Let him go!” the prince pleaded.

  “Oh, I will,” Luboc replied. “And then your men can follow the good King’s orders just as you said they would. But I suspect that the orders King Justin will issue will be far different from what you’re used to after he tastes the Drusala’s refreshing waters.”

  “Do not do this!” Prince Gregory cried out. “It is depravity of the lowest order.”

  “Then you had better catch him,” he said with a snakelike smile before turning to his guards. “Throw him in!”

  Without hesitation, the soldiers pushed their captive off the roof. He flailed his arms while plummeting four stories to the water below. As Eucádus and the others rushed to the riverbank, Prince Gregory felt as if he had just seen his father felled by an arrow. Yet a part of him also believed that that would have been a better fate than the horror now consuming the King’s mind and free will.

  “To the river, sir?” one of Prince Gregory’s captains asked with a sense of urgency, fearing that the King’s son was in a state of shock. “We must rescue your father regardless of his condition.”

  “Of course,” he replied, forcing himself to focus. “Find a path through the crowd!”

  Eucádus and Ramsey, in the meantime, had pushed through the onlookers and raced to the water’s edge, its glossy surface highlighted by the setting sun. As the Drusala flowed past beneath the arches of the nearby bridge, they spotted a silvery-haired man swimming east until he neared a low spot on the riverbank. There he climbed out and collapsed upon the grassy slope, exhausted. Eucádus bolted toward him with several other soldiers. As he approached the man lying face down on the ground, he unsheathed his sword and called to him with apprehension as more troops gathered around.

  “King Justin? Can you
hear me?” he asked. “Can you speak?”

  “Of course I can,” he muttered into the soaking arm that pillowed his head. “And you should listen carefully to what I’m about to say.” Slowly, he looked up with clouded eyes as a crazed smile gradually spread across his face. “Long live Vellan!” he cried, breaking into a fit of delighted, almost maniacal laughter as he lay there in a wet pile.

  Eucádus’ eyes widened with surprise, though not because of the man’s words but because of the haggard face staring back at him. This devoted follower of Vellan slowly getting to his knees was not King Justin of Arrondale, though he possessed similar features and wore the monarch’s outer vestment. A glance at Ramsey’s equally astonished face proved to him that he was not imagining things.

  “Who are you?” Eucádus demanded. “Where is the King?” But before the man could answer, a soldier by the northeast corner of the garrison shouted down to the river.

  “The garrison gates have opened!” he cried, urging his fellow soldiers to return to the main street in front of the building. “The gates are open! Men are leaving!”

  “What’s going on?” Ramsey asked, looking to Eucádus for guidance as his mind swirled with confusion. A similar question was upon the lips of many.

  Eucádus suddenly realized the horrifying truth and turned to locate Prince Gregory in the bustling crowd. But there was no need as the prince and his men were already racing back toward the north side along with a company of others he urged onward to the front gates, having pieced together what had just happened.

  “This was a distraction!” Eucádus said as the crowd dispersed along the side of the garrison and made for the main gate as sporadic fighting again broke out along the way. “Luboc put on a show to clear a path from the front gate to the north part of the city.”

  “But why?” Ramsey asked.

  “To transport the real King Justin out of this building!” he replied, returning his sword to its sheath. “And bring him safely to Mount Minakaris. To Vellan.”