“No, you’ll be shackled, and we aren’t carrying it.” Crawley drank half the mug. He sneered at the contents. “I won’t take any chances, but I’ll take you to Mendes fed and safe. That’s a generous offer.”
Crawley couldn’t have come at a better time. Finster was drunk. Not only that, but he was far from the top of his game. For years, he’d hidden from those who’d sought him out. He’d just wanted to fade away. Now, his past had caught up with him. His judgment day had come. “Crawley, there’s an old saying in Winkley. Perhaps you’ve heard it before.”
“I’ve heard a lot of things, but nothing worth remembering from Winkley. Indulge me.”
Finster cleared his throat. “Never wake Finster from his slumber.”
CHAPTER 3
The crossbows took on a life of their own as, with a single thought, Finster reshaped the wood of the crossbow bolts. The tips pointed toward the gabled ceiling. The soldiers pulled the triggers, and the bolts shot out in loop de loops, sailed short of the mark, and clattered into the stairwell.
“Get up there!” Crawley ordered two soldiers who stood at the base of the spiral staircase. “His parlor tricks won’t last forever.”
The husky soldiers rushed up the steps with wary eyes.
Summoning more power from the mystic well that fed his blood, Finster focused on the stairwell. With his hand in an open grip, he twisted it in the air.
The stairwell groaned. The iron railing bent. The wooden steps cracked and popped. The heavy staircase livened like a snake, and the metal coiled around the soldiers, constricted, and crushed. The soldiers screamed.
Looking up at Finster, Crawley started for his sword, but his hand pulled back.
Finster winked at him. “Having second thoughts, Commander Crawley?”
“No, just changing strategy.” He shouted out, “A dozen gold to the man who brings him down!”
The soldiers, just shy of a dozen, moved in an organized scramble. Oh, dear. There are so many of them. The Master of the Inanimate got to work. He reached deeper than he had in years. With a thrust of calculated thought, the chairs, stools, and tables on the floor took on a life of their own. The patrons, still in their chairs, screamed in horror as the wooden objects carried them and charged into the hard-eyed soldiers, bowling one of them over. Another soldier was knocked to the ground by a table. In a small world gone mad, a soldier with a large eye patch stabbed a patron through the chest.
“Easy on the people, Arly! It’s only sticks you’re fighting!” Crawley snatched up a walking stool and smashed it against the bar. “It’s just firewood!”
A large rectangular table blindsided two more soldiers. They went down howling and chopping with their blades. The table legs jabbed into the men’s bodies and limbs.
Seeing his ragtag army of furnishings getting chopped and smashed to bits, Finster executed another command. He caught Crawley looking away and made a twitch of his fingers. The floorboards beneath the commander curled back one by one and swallowed him whole. Dusting off his hands, Finster said, “Ah, that should buy me enough time.” He went to his bookshelf, gathered a few choice items, and tucked them into a rustic leather travel bag. He slid one bookshelf over, slipped through the crack, and snuck down into the kitchen. A back door awaited him, half open, with green fields beyond it as far as the eye could see.
Eyeing the pots bubbling on the flames, he considered burning the entire place down. It will be such a time-consuming pursuit if I don’t. Besides, it would be the soldiers’ fault, not mine. They started this. Then again, what about my supplies? Perhaps I can send for them. The clatter and angry hollering in the tavern grew louder. I hope I don’t regret this.
Without looking back, he walked right out the door. The fields of green were darkened on the left side and right with over fifty heavily armored soldiers. Finster froze. There was no way out of this. Even in his prime, he’d have had trouble with it. I hate soldiers. They don’t have enough brainpower, so they must rely on manpower. Every brute thinks he can fight, and they breed like rabbits. Abominable!
He puffed, and his knees wobbled. He hadn’t exerted himself like that in years. He was drained.
Crawley appeared from around the corner of the building. He dusted the dirt off and walked up to Finster. Looking down at him, he said, “That was a nice trick, Finster. You dropped me right into the cellar.” He showed a bottle of wine held in his grip. “I found this down there. A good year.”
“Consider it a gift. I’ll put it on my tab.”
“Why, thank you.” Crawley swung the bottle into the side of Finster’s head. The magus dropped to the ground. “Huh, look at that. The bottle didn’t break. Seems it’s more sturdy than you.” With a scowl, he kicked Finster in the gut a few times. “How about a drink, Finster?”
Wheezing, he replied, “Sorry. I only drink with friends. You aren’t a friend, but you had your chance.”
“You should have come peacefully, Finster. I told you there was no way out.” Crawley uncorked the bottle and drank. “Not bad for this pig pit.” He tossed the bottle inside the kitchen door. “Sergeant. Make sure all of my men are out, kill anyone that’s not one of us if they haven’t had the sense to fall, then burn it to the ground. When the villagers wail, make sure they know that Finster did it. That’s the price you pay when you resist men of authority.”
Finster spat blood. “I knew you were bad. Anybody with a face like that has to be bad.”
Crawley let out an evil chuckle. He gave a nod to his men. They dragged Finster away. Crawley took Finster’s travel bag and threw it inside the door. Within a minute, the tavern caught fire. It burned like a huge pyre. Innocent men were put to the sword, including Tuberlous.
“There’s a price for slaughtering the innocent,” Finster managed to say.
“You should know,” Crawley replied. “Strip him down, sergeant.” The sergeant was a greasy brute with more beard than face. His fingers were like sausages. “We need to make sure he doesn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. Search him. Search him good. Everything from his ears to his, well, you know.”
After the search was over, the sergeant brought Finster to Crawley. The magus wore nothing, but held his robes in his hands. “Well done, sergeant. Now, time for step two.” Crawley held up a black pouch and emptied it into his hand. A jade, beetle-shaped object filled half of his big hand.
Finster recoiled. The blood in his face drained.
“You know what this is, don’t you, Silver Snake?”
Finster replied, “I swear, you’ll get no trouble from me. Not that scarab. Please, don’t put that thing on me!”
“I have orders. Besides, I’m curious to see what this little jewel does. I think you know. Perhaps you can tell me?”
“It will deprive me of my talent.”
“Really? So it will make your tongue shrivel. No more smart-alecky comments. I like it. Perhaps I should get one for my wife. Heh-heh-heh.” Crawley dangled the object in front of Finster’s eyes. Its small insect legs popped out. Barbed feet spread out and wriggled.
“You’re sweating again, Finster, and it hasn’t even pricked your skin yet.” He nodded at the sergeant. “Arly, spin him around.”
With strong hands, Sergeant Arly whipped Finster around.
“Crawley, please, don’t do this! I’m not worth it! That is a rare item. Not the scarab! Please, not that cursed scarab. Use it on one more worthy than me. I’m harmless.”
“No, I’ve got orders. I follow them.” Crawley slapped the hungry beetle between Finster’s scrawny shoulder blades. “It’s done.”
The claws of the scarab bored into his flesh. Finster let out a bloodcurdling scream.
CHAPTER 4
Writhing on the ground with Crawley’s and Arly’s boots in his back, Finster shouted out every slur he knew. The jade beetle’s barbed feet pierced his skin. They bored into his muscles. Burning needles, like hellfire, spread through his back. Arly giggled. Finster’s eyes rolled up in his head. He arc
hed, convulsed, and squirmed. His slender fingers clutched back and forth in knots. His blue veins, bursting under his skin, turned green.
“Let him be,” Crawley said, removing his foot. Sergeant Arly stomped on Finster again. “Boy, that looks painful, but he’s harmless now—trust me. Huh, this is like watching a worm caught between the cobblestones and sunrise. See, he shrivels up.”
Finster heard the sting in the words. Crawley’s condescending tone gave him a little fire. He stopped screaming even though the beetle’s legs were still boring into him. On his hands and knees, trembling, he let the jade beetle do its excruciating work. Things were growing inside him. Sharp worms squirmed inside. The blinding pain came to an end, but the nagging had just begun. He opened his eyes. His sweat dripped to the ground in steady drops. His lip ached. He’d bitten through it. He found Crawley’s face. “Now that you’ve ruined me, I don’t suppose I could have a drink. After all, there’s little else to live for.”
“Maybe later.”
With rope, Crawley’s men bound Finster by the wrists. They tethered him to Arly’s horse, and the long march to Mendes began. Finster only wore his sandals and robes. A few hours into the trek, his soft feet had blisters on them. The group camped that night, but he ate nothing and slept shivering in his robes. The wind biting his extremities was one thing, and the chronic nagging in his back was another. He ached. He survived, unwillingly.
“How about that drink?” he said to Crawley the next morning. Finster smacked his parched lips and rubbed his eyes. “Please.”
“Give him some of my share, Arly, but don’t overdo it. That booze is the only thing that will probably keep him going.”
Drinking from a wine flask, Finster said, “As unlikely as it seems, I appreciate the mercy.”
“If it were up to me, I’d just skin your hide and leave you in the cold.” Crawley mounted his horse. “Lucky for you, that’s not what I’m paid for… this time. But my patience has limits.”
Finster focused on whatever he could learn. He counted soldiers and captured names. Any little bit of information could give him an avenue for escape. Parched, he lumbered along, tripping and stumbling in wagon ruts only to be dragged until Arly felt compelled to stop. Crawley was right: only those drinks throughout the day kept Finster going.
Three days into the journey, he and Crawley struck up another conversation along the muddy road.
“I have to say, I’m flattered that so many were sent on my account. Near three score soldiers coming after a washed-up magus. Why so many?”
High in the saddle, Crawley said, “Your reputation precedes you. I think you know that. When I was a buck, not even eighteen summers, I was at Caterwaul—what was that, thirty years ago? I saw what the likes of you did not to hundreds but to thousands.”
Finster shrank in his robes. “I was rather young myself.”
“Yes, but I was there. I saw you and many others gloating over the dead. Women and children. The wailing was indescribable. Did you know that nothing has thrived there ever since? They say the trees bleed red on wet days like this. The wind is filled with haunting moans and cries. The women can bear no children.”
“A pity. I was following orders.” Finster moved closer to the man riding in the saddle. “Many of my works, I must admit, were a travesty. But there are only two kinds of people in this world: conquerors and the conquered.”
“Yes, I learned my lesson that day. Almost everyone I knew was wiped out.” Crawley made his little laugh. “I was determined to fight for the winning side after that. Now, I command these men and many others.”
“Tragedy shapes us all for good and bad. You seem to fit in quite well with the bad. Your destiny suits you.” He cleared his throat. “Like a glove. There’s nothing worse than seeing a man trying to be something that he is not. How about another sip?”
Crawley tossed over the wine skin. “Finster, you’re almost likeable. Direct honesty gives a man a certain appeal. So many are scared to say the truth anymore. Even among my own men. I find your candor refreshing.”
“I wish I could say the same, but I’d be lying.” He sucked down the last gulp. “At least your men fear you enough not to share the truth. You’d probably kill them.”
“It’s happened.”
Scanning the horizon, eyes squinted in slits, Finster said, “I’ve done my fair share of traveling, and this isn’t the way to Mendes. We move east of it. So if we aren’t going there, then where are we going?”
“Can’t you tell? We’re almost there.”
With nothing but riders in front of him, Finster moved parallel to Arly, stretching out the rope as far as he could. The gentle plains made a straight line against the jagged hills. Tucked between bumps in the rocky terrain was a huge fortress made from red stones. Black banners, the size of specks, waved on the top of the citadel. Finster’s heart sank. He knew the ominous facility. Carved from rocks and built up with the same stone, the castle city was the stronghold of a peculiar high-ranking official.
“You’re taking me to the home of the Magus Supremeus?” He gaped. “What on earth would he want with me?”
“I don’t ask questions. I just execute the orders. I’ll tell you this, Finster: you aren’t the first to make the visit.”
Finster wandered back in line. He tracked through his past. For over a decade, he’d lain low, moving from town to town, not drawing any attention to himself. He’d made plenty of enemies all over the world, but there was none worse than a rival wizard. He’d abandoned the order. He had that right, sort of. There was a price to pay for leaving, but never one so grievous as having a jade beetle stuck to his back. As for the Magus Supremeus, he didn’t even know for certain who it was, only who it used to be. He stared at Crawley. Chin up and eyes forward, the stone-faced man’s expression offered no answers.
Finster’s shoulders ached all the more. The worst has worsened.
CHAPTER 5
The Wizard Haven—also known as the Scarlet Citadel, home of the Magus Supremeus—was an imposing slab of stone squeezed between nature. There were no windows, only parapets on the high walls of the tall, rectangular building. It was always stark, day or night. Commander Crawley led them inside the dark mouth of the mountain home. There wasn’t a courtyard or people within, only granite walls inside an unnaturally deep facility.
“I see they’re still using the same decorator,” Finster said to the sergeant. The water spilled over the inner walls in clear sheets, which made them shimmer, then emptied into a channel where huge goldfish swam. “Yes, nothing has changed in a thousand years, the way I understand it. Quite boorish for men and women renowned for their imaginations.”
Arly dismounted. The rest of the soldiers moved on, disappearing through archways into the strange facilities beyond. He handed Crawley the rope binding Finster. With a nod, Arly led his own horse and Crawley’s into the hallways beyond. The clomping of horse hooves echoed then faded the moment Arly disappeared behind the stone archway.
Looking around, Crawley said, “Is it good to be back, Finster? Home of the wizards. The training ground. It all seems so impersonal to me. Not a potted plant in the entire place.”
“We aren’t known for our gardening. We have common folk, like you, to do those menial chores for us.” He wiped his nose. “A splash of color wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.”
“It’s your homecoming. Let’s go. The Magus will be expecting you.” Crawley gave Finster a shove.
Shuffling along, Finster said, “I hardly think I’m presentable for the high magus. There is a matter of decorum in his forum.”
“No, the Magus was very specific. Besides, you aren’t the first. I’ve brought in many others in far worse shape. Some of them dead. Others just disabled.”
Finster didn’t hide his sneer from Crawley. If he could, he’d have turned the man’s skin inside out. He hated lugs like Crawley. His kind were entirely too cocky. Buffoon! Ten years ago, I’d have made you eat that sword of yours whole. He turned hi
s attention ahead. His sandals flopped on the bottoms of his heels, making an uncomfortable echo in the grand chamber.
Above him, the vaulted ceilings were crisscrossed with beautiful archways. Gaudy murals were painted between the bricks. The images were depressing scenes that seemed to move the longer he stared at them. A chill hung in the stuffy air. Right and left, between the support columns, were statues carved from obsidian. Each was the image of a magus in his prime. Some carried staves and wands. Others wore strange hats and exquisite robes. The magi depicted were all dead, but each statue seemed alive in a special sort of way.
“I hear it’s the highest honor for a magus,” Crawley said. “I bet you hoped for that—an image of you for all eternity.”
“Nothing lasts forever. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter to me once.” He eyeballed the statue of a wizard with a horned toad on his shoulder. “That’s Ellister the Marvel. He had his choice of familiars, from great cats to lizards, but preferred that toad. We had to learn all about each and every one of them. We studied the spells they created. I always had trouble with Ellister’s intricacies. I just didn’t care for animals, insects—particularly beetles—or anything that lived with a wee little mind in general. Like you, Crawley.”
“You just can’t control your sharp tongue, can you?”
“It’s the only weapon I have left.”
Crawley gave him a hard slap on the shoulder. “At the moment.”
At the end of the corridor was a single door made from a solid slab of granite. Two stone cauldrons, with dragons carved into them, burned with a bright-orange fire on either side of the entrance. A stone staircase, wide as the hall, led up a full flight of stairs. Finster stood at the bottom. Another statue caught his eye. He gaped. “Magus Supremeus! Zuulan the Arcane! He was the last I knew. What treachery is this?” He looked at Crawley. “He cannot be dead. Stepped down, yes, but dead… no.”
The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Page 2