“Like you said, nothing—or in this case, no one—lasts forever.” Crawley headed up the stairs, tugging Finster along by the rope.
The slab doorway had mystic images, ancient as the sea, carved all over the stone. There weren’t any handholds or handles. No tremendous men or beasts were present to lift the door by way of chains or pulleys.
Crinkling his nose, he said to Crawley, “Are you going to knock?”
“Don’t play games, Finster.”
Finster rolled his shoulders. He took another glance back at Zuulan the Arcane. He’d liked Zuulan. The man was an ass, but oh, so powerful. Armies could not defeat him. He turned the Genesis Magi Guild into bloody goop. He gave the door a long look. Whoever was on the other side was formidable, but Finster couldn’t imagine who that might be. Perhaps the Wizard’s Citadel had fallen to some otherworldly power. He scratched his eyebrow, gave Crawley a glance, and stepped forward.
“At least your knees aren’t quaking like the others’. I’m impressed. The statue of Zuulan seems to get to them.” Crawley looked up.
A ball of dark-blue light snaked through the channels of the massive door. Winding its way down, it came to a stop a few feet above their heads, looking like a round spot of light. It slid open to show what looked like a great eye. The eyeball moved just like a real, flesh one. The creepy gaze made Finster’s skin crawl. The eye was a vile monster, a guardian of the Magus Supremeus. Its lone stare froze men and women like ice.
Finster glared at it. He hated the eye. The eye did more than watch the door. It wandered everywhere, prying into everyone’s business. “Oh, get on with it, you filthy little shade. I’m ready to meet my captor.”
The eye narrowed on Finster for a long moment then closed, and the ball of light vanished. Slowly, the door began to rise. The majestic throne room of the Magus Supremeus was revealed. The throne was made of pure silver and iron. The metal was studded with jewels. The arms were made of curled dragon horn. The crimson cushion was empty, but the seat was guarded by dozens of soldiers—the citadel guardians. Each was a stalwart man wearing a burnished mask of hammered steel with rectangular eyelets. Their robes were brown, their sinewy arms bare, and each wore a sword belt and scabbard at the waist and held a spear with an iron tip pointing upward, its butt end on the floor.
“Welcome, Finster,” a familiar voice said from the corner of the room.
He turned toward the source. It can’t be.
CHAPTER 6
“The Sly Swan returns,” Finster said under his breath. He felt Crawley’s eyes boring a hole in his back. Crawley didn’t faze him, but she did. He watched her glide from behind her soldiers, an amazing specimen of a woman with the dark robes of the high magus clinging to her modest curves. She was much younger than he, a platinum-haired lioness with ice-blue eyes. The loose sleeves of her robes draped over the arms of the chair when she sat. An easy smile formed on her lips. His knee began to bend toward the floor. What am I doing? He straightened. “Ingrid the Inverted. I thought you were gone… forever.”
“Is that any way to greet your former prodigy, Gray Cat?” Her icy stare danced with the flickering power of a coming storm. She rested her gentle hands on the arms of the throne. She wore eight rings, one on each finger, each made from a unique precious metal and stone. They all sparkled with secrets and power. “You seem so very, very surprised. And you look like, well”—she crinkled her nose—“something that crawled out of a pig pit.”
“You can thank your errand boy for that. He was quite merciless in his acquisition of me, but also very unrevealing as to the true nature of my kidnapping. I tried to dislodge it from his simple brain, but his stubborn nature failed to let me loose it from his crooked lips. Care to explain, Ingrid?” He pointed at his back. “Also, the jade beetle is quite… extreme.”
“A precaution, old mentor. Consider it mercy. You’ve fared much better than several other members of the order.”
“I’d be very interested to learn more about their demise and the purpose behind it. Perhaps we could talk over a drink.” He licked his lips. “Much like old times?”
“What makes you think I brought you here for conversation?”
“Please…” Finster gave the soldiers and Crawley the once-over. “The citadel is all but abandoned. You must be starved for real conversation. These men are capable of little more than fighting and farting. I’d hate to imagine an actual conversation. Unless you are keeping them to satisfy your neurotic passions.”
Ingrid waved a finger. “Be careful what you say to the Magus Supremeus, Finster. I’m not your protégé anymore, nor your friend.”
“No, of course not. Friends don’t treat friends like this—or threaten or kill them, for that matter.”
A female servant dressed in thin layers of silk appeared from behind the soldiers. She approached the throne with a tray loaded with a bottle of wine and a single goblet. Ingrid took the cup in hand. “I’ll be drinking alone today, as I often do.”
Eyeing the goblet, Finster licked his lips. Stifle your tongue, Finster. It’s the best way out of this. Seek her mercy. With a long shrug of his narrow shoulders, he said, “Please, Ingrid. Look at where you are. I played a part in this, didn’t I? Was I not good to you?”
Her eyes smoldered for just a moment. “You have become a sot, Finster. I’d heard such things, but I had trouble believing it. You, of all the magi, took the greatest care of yourself. You were impeccable. Now you are soft and scrawny, and the natural charm that danced the skirts off many ladies is gone.”
“Did I not tell you that magic takes a toll on you? Finally, I admit, it got the best of me.” He made a feeble and helpless smile. “I’m master of little more than the bottle now.”
“Is this true, Crawley?” She leaned back in her seat. “Was it a simple task to track down and capture this drunkard?”
“He posed as big a challenge as any. He made the tables, chairs, and stairwells dance,” Crawley said. “He’s got power—plenty of it.”
“Had power,” Finster corrected. “Ingrid, why this cursed scarab of all things? Why me? I’m not even part of the order now. I’m just one that wants to be left on his own.” He held out the grubby palms of his hands. “I’m harmless.”
“I know better, Finster. I’m certain that you remember telling me that a time comes in every wizard’s life when he must make the choice. You told me you’d answer the call to good if pressed. Despite your own misgivings, you are still sworn to defend the order.”
“What order? It appears you destroyed it. And those words? Why, those were that of a mentor trying to impress a pretty girl. I don’t even recall it. Besides, you weren’t so naïve. You knew what was going on. Every wizard in the citadel wanted you.”
Her eyes smiled. Her crossed leg kicked.
Finster went on. “Did I not save you—an innocent girl—from a life in the brothels? That’s why I took you from the place that you were born in. You had wisdom. A talent. I found it.”
“Yes, you, oh so noble, found me in a brothel.” She sipped her red wine. “It makes me angry.”
“You’ve always been angry. That was your weakness. I thought you might have cooled off by now. As for the brothel, that was a mere coincidence. I was weak and had needs. I think it was destiny.”
“Yet you sent me away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The missions. Those boorish trips between where the sun rises and falls, to help, grow, and learn. All it did was incite me!”
He wagged his finger at her. “You and I parted ways long before that happened, Ingrid the Unpleasant. I, on the other hand, moved on to face my own failures. Don’t throw your problems on me. Look where you are now.” He gazed at the splendor of the throne room. “You are the Magus Supremeus, and you complain?”
Her eyes narrowed.
Finster’s finger popped out of joint. “Gah!” He dropped on his knees. Eyes watering, he said, “Why did you do that? Can’t you see I’m impaired e
nough? Spare me a finger, please!”
Ingrid stood. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your adept. I’m the Magus Supremeus.”
“No, you are Ingrid the Inept!” he said, huddled over his finger. “Tell me, how did you steal this throne?” He leered at her sensuous legs. “Though I’m pretty sure I could guess.”
In a gloating fashion, Ingrid held up her fingers. “These trinkets that you know so well, I earned in the battle of orders. In my fight to attain the tenth order, I bested many. The rings, among other things, are trophies. You’ve had your share. You boasted to me about that. I reached the level of the ninth order. My skills garnered the attention of Zuulan the Arcane. He was so fond of me that we married.”
Finster rolled his eyes. Zuulan, you fool. Why would you marry a fellow magus? And Ingrid of all people. She was too talented and dangerous. She brought nothing but chaos to the order. Guilt stirred in his belly. Finster had been the one to discover Ingrid. He’d had high hopes, but she had a dark fire that couldn’t be quenched.
“You are partially right, Finster.” She crossed her legs. Running her fingers from her bare thighs to her knee, she said, “I used my ways on old Zuulan. As it turns out, the only thing he loved more than magic was flesh.”
I could have told you that. Oh, his birthday celebrations. They made brothels look like cathedrals.
She continued. “It was easy to pull the wool over Zuulan’s hungry eyes. I liked him and respected him. I kept him distracted with many things. At the same time, in the background, I began my own secret war on the members of the order. With the help of Crawley, I killed them all.” She toyed with the rings on her fingers. “One by one.” She touched one of the masked soldiers. The citadel guardian turned to water and spilled over the floor. She touched another man. The guardian’s skin shriveled up into a husk. He hit the floor and collapsed to dust.
Finster saw the whites of the rest of the guardians’ eyes behind the masks. Many Adam’s apples rolled. Crawley’s own finger moved over the pommel of his sword.
Invisible spiders crawled up Finster’s spine. This is bad. Oh, so bad.
CHAPTER 7
“Impressive,” Finster said, wiping his sweating palms on his robes. He popped his finger back into joint with a grunt. He’d seen the power of the Magus Supremeus before, but this display was different. Ingrid took the lives of the guardians as nonchalantly as a child stomping a worm underfoot. The guardians of the citadel were devotees of the order, the high magus’s personal soldiers. They pledged their lives in the order’s defense, but they weren’t livestock. Warriors—so brainless in their bravery. Always trying to prove something. Glorified farmers. Eventually, they have it coming. “So I suppose you murdered Zuulan, then. I seem to recall rumors of Ingrid the Assassin.”
“No.” Ingrid drank from her goblet. She took a deep breath, expanding her enticing chest. Her eyes drifted for a moment. “I didn’t need to murder him. Instead, I challenged him before he discovered what I was doing. You should have seen the shock in his face. His jowls hung to the floor. The betrayal. Hah, it weakened him. I think he held back. Actually, I was counting on that. You see, I’d learned enough to advance to the tenth order. But I’d learned something else he didn’t know—how to use the power of all these rings as one. It gave me the edge I needed.”
Finster’s eyes watched the treasury on her fingers with hungry fascination.
“Yes, Finster, it is exhilarating. The amplification of power I hold in my hands, I must say, is intoxicating.”
“All power is, and only a few can handle it.”
She gently shook her head. “Poor Zuulan—he didn’t have the fight in him. Pitiful. Whimpering, his eyes sank back into his head right before his bones turned to water. He was nothing more than a sack of sand made from flesh. I cremated him, literally. No sense in having a coffin funeral for a bag of flesh.”
Finster held her eyes. “Now that you have the high seat, what do you intend to do with it?”
“The only thing that must be done: take over the kingdom. I grew so tired of all the folly I saw when I walked the world on the missions.” She fought off a sneer. “These kings and queens are fools. The people would be better off without them. I’d be better off without them. I’ll have vengeance on all of them.”
“What would life be without vengeance? Ah, yes—peaceful.” Sniffing, he rubbed his nose. “The order is about protecting the kingdoms, not running them. The magi are guides, the higher minds of reason. We offer advice and direction.”
Ingrid’s voice rose. “The magi have been pawns! They are the dirty fighters behind these endless wars and skirmishes. You know that as well as anyone, Secret Slayer.”
“You are mad, Ingrid. The people like their kings and queens. So be it! You might take Mendes, but you’ll never rule.”
“Oh, but I will. You see, the King of Mendes, Rolem the Grand, is due another suitable queen as her ladyship recently died.”
“Let me guess—her heart gave out.”
“Exploded actually.”
“I see… and you’ve sunk your claws into him. Relationships between the order and the royal lines are forbidden.”
“King Rolem is an innovator. Open-minded. He believes in change.”
Oh, not this again. Change my arse! It’s just another word for control. “And pray tell, what is my role in all of this?”
“You don’t have a role, Finster.” She stepped away from the throne, came down the steps, and faced him. “I certainly have a fondness for the once-handsome magus that saved this young girl from living among the sordid people in the taverns, but I only need one thing from you.”
“Obviously, it’s not my advice.”
“No, something more useful.” Her lips brushed against his ear. “I want you to tell me the location of the stone.”
“What stone?”
“The stone. Don’t play games with me, Finster. I want it. I’ll have it.”
“Ingrid, the stone is a myth. At least I’m convinced of that. I merely told you about it to impress you.”
“I know better, Guardian of the Mystic Forge.”
“Are you daffy?” He started to tremble. “I’m a drunk. Always have been. I abandoned those dreams and delusions.” From his knees, he begged her. “Please, let me be your servant. A simple servant. I’ll do it for wine. I’ll sleep in the stables. Ingrid, please!”
Teeth clenched, she hauled back to smack him.
Finster flinched.
“All I have to do is touch you, Finster!” She stuck her fist in his face. “You would be at an end. It’s sickening what you’ve become. You were destined to be a tenth. A tenth! Maybe the high magus. But I promise you this: if you know the whereabouts of the stone, I will extract it from you. I know there is still a man in there. A man with secrets. I will have them!” She marched toward the throne. On her way, she touched another guardian. The man’s neck snapped. “Crawley, you know where to take him.”
“Please, Ingrid! Take this beetle from my back! Please!”
“Why, Finster, I thought you’d relish being attached to the mystic pet that you created. Aren’t you enjoying my precious gift? The jade beetle has been a very effective tool in my conquests.”
“Ingrid, please, I beg you. Let’s have a drink. The trip has been long. Perhaps some concoctions will revive my addled mind. I’ll tell you what I can remember.”
Crawley grabbed hold of him by the nape of the neck.
Finster clawed the air. He showed Ingrid a gaping smile. “I’ll be a wonderful servant! I learned to make excellent soups.”
She shooed them away.
Crawley popped him in the back of the head. Finster’s knees buckled. He climbed back to his feet with the help of Crawley, begging for mercy. Crawley shoved him out the door and down the steps. He led Finster on a long walk through the citadel’s catacomb-like halls. They took steps that wound down into the subterranean level. The stones were slimy under Finster’s feet. It stank and left a rancid tas
te in his mouth. A wet chill hung in the air. He buried his nose in his sleeve.
Two sentries opened the door to the main dungeon, a place Finster had been to several times before. The circumstances had been far more favorable then. They stopped in front of a cell.
Crawley shoved Finster’s face between the metal bars of a cell. Inside, a brute of a man the likes of which Finster had never seen lay balled up and half naked. He didn’t stir.
“A relative of yours, Crawley?”
“No… your cellmate.”
CHAPTER 8
“Is this really necessary?” Finster was inside the cell, sitting with his back against the wall. With help from the guards, Crawley shackled Finster’s ankle to the barbarian’s ankle with a fair length of chain. “I’m inside a cell. I’m not some pickpocket that can break out. Please, Crawley. I deserve better than this. You know I don’t get along with inbreeds, aside from yourself of course.”
Crawley squatted down—eye to eye with Finster. “Funny, but I know better. Never trust a wizard. Besides, maybe your cozy new relationship will jar your memory. He’s one of those northern barbarians. The hairless tribe. Odd for a northerner. Their skins are so thick that their bare feet don’t freeze in the snow. They call them the Blue Toes. Heh-heh. They like to snuggle with each other on cold, damp nights.” He tested the chain and stood up. “When he wakes up, there’s no telling what he might do with the likes of you. But if he kills you, oh well. Nothing lost, nothing gained.”
Finster eyeballed the brute form huddled on the floor like a passed-out drunkard. The savage knots of muscle in his back rippled with every breath. The barbarian was skinned up and scarred from head to toe. He looked like he’d run naked through a patch of heavy black thorns a dozen times. The only thing covering the bestial man up was a pair of goatskin trousers.
Crawley stepped outside of the cell and closed the door. “I wouldn’t resist if he wants to curl up with you. You might be a warm little pig to him. A pet.” He held his hands up. “But don’t agitate him. We came across him by accident. He took offense to us crossing a stream where he was fishing. He killed five of my best men before their steel could snake out of their skins. Huh.” He gave the barbarian a look of admiration. “Those barbarians are outstanding woodsmen. They just aren’t so wise in the ways of warcraft.”
The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Page 3