Walter was truly irritated. He spit on the ground in a most un-Walter-like fashion. “You can have me hanged afterward if you wish. You have a minute and a half left now.”
My mouth opened in protest, but I could see the conviction in his eyes. He meant it. Instead of debating, I focused on the problem at hand and ran through the possibilities in my mind. Try as I might, I could see nothing. Holding my hands up, I stared at them, their emptiness seemed to symbolize what I had left to use against Doron; absolutely nothing. With Karenth, I had had the advantage of an elaborate, enchanted trap and many carefully crafted lies. The biggest irony being that I had lied to everyone but the shining god. I had known he wouldn’t believe me. Instead, I had put the information I wanted him to believe, in the mind of someone he would have expected me to trust.
Of course, Karenth had been fairly intelligent. According to the rumors I had heard, his brother Doron was much simpler. A complex ruse would probably fail to work if the opponent was incapable of understanding the information presented to them.
“Your time is up? Have you produced a miracle?” said Walter sardonically.
I frowned, “No.” It felt like I had something tickling the back of my head.
Walter gestured and said a few words. My arms and legs were drawn to my sides, held there by an invisible force. Another word and I was lifted from the ground. Motioning with his hand, my body floated upright beside him, and the older wizard began walking in the direction that would lead us to the main entrance.
“Stop it! You’re taking us to the entrance anyway… they’re still fighting there. We will be spotted for sure,” I argued.
Walter laughed, “I’m a Prathion. No one spots me unless I choose it.”
And just like that, it all fell into place in my mind. “I’ve got it,” I announced.
My jailer ignored me and kept walking.
“Let me go Walter. I have an idea.”
He snorted, “I’ve heard that before.”
“Then just leave me here, this won’t require your help,” I suggested.
“Not a chance. How long do you think I’d live once the Countess discovered I’d left you behind?” he replied.
“Did I ever tell you the story of my chess match with Devon Tremont?” I said, changing the subject abruptly.
“Several times… are you planning to challenge Doron to a game of chess? Somehow I doubt he is a big fan of the game,” retorted Walter wryly.
I nodded, “You are probably correct, but as my father used to say, ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’”
He ignored my clever allegory and continued walking. I floated behind him, drawn along as if by some invisible string.
“You know how much I enjoy games,” I continued.
“A selfish pleasure, since you usually win,” replied Walter, “But Doron isn’t going to take you up in a game of skill or strategy. He’s far more likely to crush your skull and make pudding out of your brains.”
“There’s one type of game that I sometimes lose, especially when I play Marcus,” I hinted.
“I’m not particularly interested in tossing dice and casting our lives away on a game of pure chance,” said Walter, “nor do I think Doron will consent to giving up his advantage. He has us at his mercy already.”
“Not dice, more like cards,” I corrected, “… and perhaps the advantage is ours. Perhaps the god of iron should be seeking mercy from us instead.”
Walter stopped. “I know I will regret this. Go ahead and explain what you’re thinking.”
I explained my plan intently while he listened. Once I had finished, he removed the spell binding my arms and legs and let me walk on my own feet again. I gave him one of my confident smiles, to let him know he had made the right choice.
“Don’t grin at me like that,” he groused.
“Why not?”
“Because your idea is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. There is almost no way it will work, and when it fails, you and I will both suffer long and painful deaths,” he complained.
I ignored his pessimism, “Hah! You said ‘almost’. So you agree there’s a chance?”
He peered at his feet, “No, not really.”
“So why are you going along with me?” I asked, somewhat surprised.
Glancing up, Walter’s visage held an expression of sincerity. “Because of the way you said it,” he admitted.
That seemed a bit odd to me. “That’s a rather silly way of deciding something,” I told him.
He muttered something under his breath. I didn’t hear it clearly, but it sounded as if he said ‘you can’t fix stupid,’ one of my favorite mottos. I dismissed the thought. The phrase was utterly un-Walter-like.
“You have no idea what you’re like, do you?” Walter said questioningly. “Most of the time, you are completely oblivious to your effect on the people around you.”
“I have wondered,” I admitted, “but being a nobleman, now I’ve just assumed I will never get an honest answer regarding people’s opinions of me.”
“That isn’t really what I’m talking about, Mordecai. I mean the look you get, when you’re intent upon something,” said Walter.
I could tell he was about to drift into embarrassing territory, so I tried to divert him, “Are you referring to me sticking my tongue out of the side of my mouth when I concentrate?” I demonstrated what I meant. In point of fact, Penny had often told me it was an endearing expression.
He let out an impatient sigh, “No, I’m talking about your absolute confidence. Many times now, we’ve been in, what I thought, were hopeless situations, and whenever it happens, you always come up with something. It usually sounds implausible, and I frequently think it’s a bad idea, but I go along with it anyway.”
“You have to,” I interrupted, “I’m your liege. Obedience is mandated.”
“Don’t interrupt,” he grumbled, and then he snapped his fingers and vanished in front of me. His disembodied voice continued, “I don’t have to do a damned thing. I’m a Prathion, and one of the few living wizards that remain. If I wanted, I and my family would return to quiet obscurity somewhere far from anyone that knew us.”
“Point taken,” I agreed.
Walter reappeared as suddenly as he had vanished. “The reason I keep following you into dark caves,” he said, referring to the first time he had faced the shiggreth with me, “is because of your absolute conviction. It’s the look in your eyes and the tone of your voice. It tells me, and everyone else around you, that you are certain of your course of action. Even though you’re betting your life, and frequently the lives of many other people around you… you don’t waver or hesitate. You should though… any sane man would suffer some self-doubts or indecisiveness, but if you did, I imagine people wouldn’t follow you.”
I swallowed; my throat dry after listening to his revelation. I doubt myself constantly. Do I really seem so sure to others?
“That’s why I released you from the spell. That’s why I’m here, when every instinct in my body is screaming at me to get as far away as possible. I can hear it in your voice and see it on your face when you find your answer, and no matter how stupid it sounds to me, I can’t help but believe in you,” Walter finished.
There was nothing to say to that, so I put my arms out and embraced him. “One of these days you’ll get yourself killed following me around,” I stated somberly.
“You saved my life not long ago, and I probably owed you several for helping my family even before that. I’ll still be coming out ahead on the bargain, even if I die today,” answered the older wizard.
We didn’t talk for a bit after that, just walked, heading ever closer to the area that Walter indicated still had quite a bit of fighting. It wasn’t long however, before my friend held up his hand, gesturing to me that we should stop. “We’re close. There are at least twenty men ahead, fighting just past that door,” he pointed at a door that led into the scullery.
That room itself
was of modest size, but it connected to the much larger main kitchen area. “How many of them are ours?” I asked.
“Only a few, Harold and two others, wear your armor. One of the enemy is fighting alongside them… no, wait… that’s Dorian!” stated Walter at last.
That puzzled me. “How could you confuse him for one of the enemy?” I questioned.
“He’s fighting naked,” said the other wizard. He didn’t bother to elaborate further, for I could easily understand the confusion that might cause him.
“That blast of Karenth’s must have completely destroyed it,” I postulated, remembering the moment earlier when he had intercepted the attack meant for my illusory self. “If we survive this day, he will never live this down,” I added. Dorian had always been easily embarrassed.
Chapter 28
Walter had suggested using invisibility until we could get to a safe place to make our ‘entry’, but I dismissed the thought. There really weren’t any safe places, and being fully invisible would also mean we would be blind, since in order to hide from Doron we would have to cloak ourselves from magic as well as visible light.
Instead, I asked him to put a shield around the two of us until I could get the situation under control, though I wanted him to remove it once I got started.
“That’s reckless,” he insisted, “Why do you want to be unprotected?”
“Your shield wouldn’t stop Doron if he’s serious, and it might hurt your chances of escaping if the feedback stuns you when it breaks. I just want to make sure we don’t get killed by flying debris or a wild swing before I can get his attention,” I explained.
“That doesn’t sound like a…,” began Walter, but his words ended quickly as I opened the door and stepped through, leaving him little choice but to follow.
The scullery itself seemed almost untouched. A basket of turnips had been overturned, and a few dishes had been knocked to the floor, but if it hadn’t been for the raucous noises coming from the larger main kitchen area, we might never have known a battle had passed through it. I stepped through the open archway leading into the kitchen and had to blink as a wooden stool passed through the air near my head.
The preparation tables had been reduced to kindling, while pots and pans had been tossed willy-nilly about the room. Backed into one corner, Cyhan and Sir Thomas were struggling to avoid being overwhelmed, using the ovens to guard their backs while they faced seven of the intruders. Thomas still held his sun-sword but somewhere along the way Cyhan’s had been broken, which was not an easy feat. The veteran warrior held the remaining foot of the blade and hilt in one hand and used a large butcher knife with his left hand.
No one had taken notice of us, entering as quietly as we had into such a noisy scene and as I looked on, the fight continued. Those facing Cyhan and Thomas were using the same tactics as before, coordinating their movements and occasionally attempting to entangle one of the knights by sacrificing themselves. Fighting someone that doesn’t mind being wounded or maimed is a difficult thing, especially when he has a friend next to him ready to crack your skull like a ripe melon the moment you are unable to fend off his blows.
Cyhan and Thomas however, had something that none of Doron’s possessed warriors had… experience. Next to them, the berserk warriors seemed like amateurs, despite their advantage of numbers. It was a deadly game though, one that would punish the first mistake on their part with a swift death. The iron-headed maces were unforgiving, and their wielders would be quick to follow up on any misstep.
Cyhan fell backward, stepping awkwardly upon a piece of broken furniture and drawing his enemies’ swings down low, to crush him where he fell. His fall turned out to be a ruse however, and as he slipped downward he pushed off on the oven behind him and went into a slide that sent him between and behind his attackers. Meanwhile, Thomas’ great sword caught the two who had sought to take advantage of his comrade, cutting both arms from the closest one at the elbow, while removing the second’s hand at the wrist.
His attack had drawn his defense out of line, and one of the others facing Thomas stepped forward to make certain he couldn’t recover, or he would have, but for the fact that Cyhan held him by the ankle.
Standing rapidly, Cyhan jerked the berserker’s feet out from under him, causing him to flip forward to slam face first into the stone floor. Meanwhile, Thomas’ backswing caught the man’s companion in the side, neatly bisecting the god-ridden foe, and sending a wash of blood and gore down onto his senior knight commander.
Not that the older warrior particularly cared; Cyhan was already covered in blood and he had never been squeamish. He pushed himself upward, clutching one of the maces that the invaders had dropped, and moved to drive their mutual enemy back from where they were pressing in to flank Thomas. As he stood, he was caught squarely in the back by a heavy iron-headed weapon that had been thrown from across the room. The force of the blow drove him forward to smash into the great brick oven, and while the backplate of his armor protected his spine, the shock of it rendered him senseless for a moment.
Thomas was forced to swing wildly as he attempted to cover both his fallen commander and himself. Under normal circumstances that would have been sufficient, but against these men, it merely delayed the inevitable by a few seconds. Several of those who had already been maimed, threw themselves at him, and even as his sword cut them down, their bodies put him off balance, and he fell under the weight of them while still others grappled his arms and legs.
Only one was left free and able to wield his iron mace, but one was more than enough. Bringing the weapon down in a crushing blow, the berserker struck at Thomas, heedless of his comrades who were pinning the knight. The iron head destroyed the spine of one of the wild warriors, and yet still had enough force behind it to rattle Thomas inside his armor. The second blow was better aimed, and the stalwart Knight of Stone felt something break as it drove him down against the stone floor. The armor he wore was nigh invincible, but the flesh and bone beneath it could only take so much.
During their struggle, Dorian had been valiantly battling against three others and his fight had gone better, despite the fact that he had begun unarmed and stark naked. Without his armor he could not afford to be struck, but it also made him even faster and more nimble. Ducking and dodging, he had managed to get his enemy to do much of his work for him, their maces striking one another as they sought to match his speed.
Using his hand liked a claw, Dorian had caught one of the wounded warriors by the nape and clenching powerfully, he crushed the man’s neck. Without pause, he spun and twisted to avoid an attack from his second adversary and as he moved, he deftly caught his opponent’s wrist. Sidestepping and pulling his foe into an awkward stance, he broke the man’s arm before he could recover.
I saw him catch his enemy’s weapon as it fell and use it to block a strike from his third opponent. The two maces met squarely, and the poorly tempered steel exploded at the sudden impact of the metal heads. One razor sharp shard of metal lodged itself in Dorian’s chest, as bits of steel flew in all directions, but if the Grandmaster of the Knights of Stone noticed, he gave no sign. His heart thundered in his chest as he drove the shattered wooden haft forward into the other man’s abdomen.
As he fought, Dorian saw Thomas’ plight unfolding. Unable to reach his fellow knight to stop the awful battering he was enduring, he used the only weapon available to him… his legs bent as he crouched and levered upward on the haft of the broken mace, using it as handle to send the man impaled upon it flying across the room, to slam into the back of Thomas’ opponent.
Before he could recover, his second opponent, the one he had disarmed and left with a broken limb, caught him squarely with a powerful punch that sent him reeling backward. Another blow followed before he could recover his wits, and Dorian stumbled, trying to protect his head and body. The one armed berserker pummeled him, but despite his enhanced strength he was unable to land a solid strike, for Dorian kept rolling with the blows as he str
uggled to regain his balance.
As I watched, Dorian seemed to wilt for a moment, and then as his opponent’s next swing came, he straightened and caught the man at the wrist and shoulder before whipping him around to slam into one of the few remaining oaken tables. The heavy wood survived the impact, but my friend wasn’t done… before his foe recovered he lifted the man with both hands and drove him down onto the table again, this time with the force and weight of his own body behind it. The table shattered, and while I couldn’t see what happened to Dorian’s enemy, he did not rise from where he lay.
All of this took place in the span of less than a minute. Without my magic I was unable to intervene, and Walter was slow to react. The fight ended as Dorian finished off what remained of Cyhan and Thomas’ opponents… by first hurling the remains of the table he had broken and then wading in with a broken board to make sure that their enemies progressed from ‘injured’ to ‘dead’.
Understandably, it wasn’t easy to get his attention. “Don’t kill them all!” I shouted, “I need one to talk to!” My words went unheeded, as he used the end of his impromptu club to crush another of the still moving berserker’s skulls.
My childhood friend looked nothing like I remembered him. Gone was his beard, eyebrows, and sometimes sheepish grin, they were replaced by bare skin marked with blood and scorch marks. I had yet to hear him utter an intelligible word. The only sounds emanating from him were deep growling noises, so low as to almost be beneath the threshold of hearing. They were audible though, and the feral sounds sent a chill down my spine.
I moved closer, careful to keep outside of the radius of his makeshift weapon. “Dorian! Are you alright!?” I said loudly, and he finally took notice of me.
The board in his hand twitched as his eyes locked onto me, leaving me to wonder how close I had come to receiving another of his death blows, but it did not move further than an inch. He had frozen, staring at me with a look that bespoke confusion. A noise started in his throat, but only a wordless grunt emerged.
The God-Stone War m-4 Page 29