The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power

by Craig Halloran

  The Wargoth’s arms came to life. His hands grabbed the spear.

  Finster’s heart skipped. The horse dipped down in the air. Impossible!

  The hands of the Wargoth slid down the spear until his fist touched his face. His body no longer moved.

  Finster’s shoulders slumped. That’s one down. The hilltop was covered with dozens of the Wargoths now. They brandished hatchets, hammers, and spears made from stone and hurled everything they had at Finster. He deflected the weapons. Maintaining control of the others, he formed a wheel in the air. The stone weapons started to spin like a grinding wheel.

  This would work much better with sharpened steel, but I’ll give it a go.

  “Savages, allow me to introduce myself. I am Finster, Master of the Inanimate. Feel my wrath, you wretched things!”

  The wheel of stone spun into a wheel of death. It slammed into the Wargoths, tearing their painted flesh to shreds. Blood sprayed over the sparse field of stone and grass.

  Finster laughed, but it was cut short when a hurled stone slipped through his defenses and cracked the back of his head. He fell from the saddle toward the hard ground and the savages awaiting him below.

  ***

  Moth sank his sword hilt deep in the Wargoth’s chest with one hand. He punched an enemy’s eye out with the other. The Wargoths gathered around him in a mindless, flesh-rending flock bent on his destruction. They latched onto his legs, and sharp teeth bit into his calves and knees. With one hack after another, he hewed them down. The heavy blade shaved arms from shoulders. Necks were gored. Blood flowed freely into the ground.

  The Wargoths bunched together. In a sea of silent rage, they surged against Moth. Bigger and stronger than average men, the Wargoths unleashed their savagery.

  Towering against them, Moth killed three more. He was his own silent, savage assassin. The Wargoths latched onto his arms and fought to pry the sword from his fingers. Burning from their paralyzing fingernail slashes, Moth’s raw strength began to wane. His vibrant limbs became sluggish. The Wargoths covered him like a great heavy tide and sent him crashing to the ground.

  CHAPTER 28

  Finster woke with a loud thumping in his head. One eye was swollen. His hands were stretched behind his back and tied around the trunk of a tree. His feet were strapped down at the ankle. He noticed the gray bark of the tree at his feet and glanced up. The leaves were green maple, rustling in the breeze. His body ached.

  Why must life be so painful?

  Adjacent to him, Moth was secured to a tree in a similar fashion. Cords of rope wound around his body. The barbarian’s eyes were alert, and he wriggled against the restraints. The barbarian didn’t look any worse for wear. His pale skin was unscathed. He looked as healthy as if he’d been born yesterday.

  Pearls and gold bring rejuvenation. Pah, if I only had that ring myself.

  It was a mystery to Finster that the rings could work without Moth knowing how to use them. But, somehow, the barbarian had tapped into them. Or perhaps the rings tapped into him. He didn’t seem any the wiser for it, though.

  Who would have ever dreamed that swallowing the rings would be effective? Forget about the rings, Finster. You need to get out of here.

  Behind Moth were the huts made from stone, wood, and grasses woven together. Moth’s horse lay on the ground, dead. A handful of the savages had begun to skin the beast. Finster’s skin crawled when a Wargoth, up to his elbows in blood, came his way. The savage carried Moth’s sword. Catching Finster’s eye, the man walked right up to him. He pinched Finster’s face in his bloody hand.

  “Can I help you with something?” Finster asked, wrinkling his nose. “A suggestion, perhaps? Have you heard of bathing or chewing leaves? It freshens the body and the breath.”

  “He wants to cut off your face,” a woman said, appearing from behind the Wargoth. She was painted the same as the men—white with wide, jagged black streaks all over her supple body. Her black hair was short and spiky. Long feathers, dyed in black, hung from her arms and legs. Her eyes, framed with crow’s feet, were icy blue. She moved with grace.

  “You speak the words of the kings,” Finster said with relief.

  “I speak many things,” she said in a seductive manner. “What is your name, stranger?”

  “Finster. And yours?”

  “I am Ravenlock.” She put her hand on his chest. “The Wargoths tell me you wield marvelous power.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her chest swelled inside her feathered vest. “I sense it. I will have it.”

  “It is not mine to give. If anything, I am cursed with it, Ravenlock.”

  “No, no, no,” she said, touching her black-dyed fingertips to his lips. “You will give it to me. I always get what I want, Finster.” Her blue eyes glowed with a haunting aura. “Yield your power to me.”

  Seeing the hunger building in her eyes, Finster said, “You aren’t a Wargoth.”

  “No, I am Ravenlock, their goddess. You are their sacrifice to me. They are such a faithful people. They give me everything I want.” She ran her hands over his body. “I can feel what I want. So close.”

  “You are not a goddess, Ravenlock. You are a witch doctor.”

  “To you, maybe. To them, I am what I say I am. Can you speak Wargoth, Finster?”

  He shook his head.

  “I speak many languages. It is a gift. It amplifies my influence over them. That and my magic.” She pressed against him. “Tell me, do I have to kill you in order to get what I want?”

  “You sound like a reasonable woman. I think we can settle this without killing one another. Perhaps we can talk about this elsewhere?”

  “No.” She spoke to her men in a coarse and broken language. A Wargoth ambled over, holding a clay bowl in his hands. Steam and a weird stench came from it. Ravenlock dipped her finger in the bowl, and a red yolk-like goo clung to her fingers. “But I will feed you.”

  Finster knew plenty about the concoctions of the uncivilized. He’d dabbled in similar natural alchemy himself. The last thing he needed now was to let his mind be altered in any way by some stomach-wrenching swill. He shifted the conversation. “You seem too civilized to live among the Wargoth.”

  “I could say the same of you. You align yourself with this Blue Toe barbarian. It’s very odd company to keep.” She fingered the collar of his robes. “However, I should be grateful. You brought the last Blue Toe to me. To the Wargoth. They believe the total annihilation of their enemies enhances their power. Today is everything I envisioned.”

  “He is the last of the Blue Toes?”

  “The last of his clan, more likely. This clan will believe what I say. I am their goddess. I give them destruction. They are lost without me. Now, eat.”

  “This isn’t a Wargoth village, is it? It was the Blue Toes’.”

  “Very observant. The Wargoth reside in the home of their enemy until they have consumed them all.” She nodded to a blackened fire pit in a clearing a couple dozen yards away. Scorched bones lay among the ashes. “The Blue Toes were tied up. Hot coals gathered from deep in the rock were heaped on their bodies, the same way civilized races roast a pig. They devoured the last remains of the Blue Toes a sunset ago. We were satisfied, ready to depart, when I sensed you coming.” Her fingers grazed his bald head. “I am curious how you and that savage paired up.”

  “He molested the king’s herd of sheep. Since he was proving to be evasive, I was hired to hunt him down. I was about to pounce when your brood interrupted my triumph.”

  Ravenlock sneered. “You’re a very bad liar, Finster. No matter. I’ll have the truth and more soon enough.” She put the goo up to his lips. “See you in the next world.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Ravenlock,” he pleaded, “I don’t have the stomach for your porridge. I’d rather die with my wits. If you let me live, I’ll tell you what you want. I have power, yes, but it is not my own. It is attached to me.”

  She drew back her fingers. “Where?”

  He sigh
ed. “Do you promise to let me live?”

  “Certainly.”

  “That answer is a little vaguer than I hoped for. I should have been more specific. Oh well. On my back, there is a scarab. It is the source of my power. It is yours, but I don’t think you will be able to take it. No offense.”

  “No tricks.” Turning, she spoke in Wargoth. The man set down the bowl and untied Finster from the tree, leaving his hands and fingers bound. Several rough hands turned him around and shoved him face-first into the tree’s trunk. They lifted Finster’s robes, revealing his back.

  Ravenlock’s icy fingers touched Finster’s skin, and he broke out in chill bumps. “Shades, woman! Are you living or dead?”

  “My blood runs warm, but my touch is death.” She traced her fingers around the scarab and sucked through her teeth. “Fascinating. Such power. What is it?”

  “A curse. That’s what it is. Can you not see my veins? They are green!”

  “I like your green veins. It makes you unique.” She tugged on the scarab.

  “Gah! Don’t do that. It digs in like a tick when you fool with it. Aside from cutting it out, I cannot remove it.”

  She spoke to the Wargoth. The one who had held the bowl pinned Finster to the ground. The Wargoth with the sword took a knee and drew a sharp knife made of stone. “Yes, I see your problem, Finster. And per your suggestion, I shall have it cut out.”

  “But you said you would let me live.”

  “And you will live… through the process. Maybe even longer. I’ll have my Wargoth be gentle. I almost hate to do it. After all, I’ve enjoyed our conversation. I miss talking to people from my own lands.”

  “And where might that be?”

  “The Kingdom of Rayland.”

  “I see. You’re an affiliate of the Helene Principal, aren’t you? I thought I smelled the taint of a novice study in the arts. It’s common in your order. No offense.”

  “Ah, you must be one of those arrogant fools of the Red Citadel.”

  “Former member, mind you. We had a falling-out quite some time ago. I assume you had a falling-out as well.”

  “We aren’t going to get cozy, Finster. Any member or former member is an enemy of mine. I’m going to enjoy ending you. It will certainly feed my power.”

  “No offense, Ravenlock, but that isn’t going to happen.” Like snakes, the ropes that once bound Finster slithered around Ravenlock’s and the Wargoths’ necks. The ropes constricted, and their tongues protruded. The bindings on Finster’s hands slunk over the ground, up the enemies’ bodies, and into their mouths. Coming to his feet and rubbing his wrists, Finster asked, “Did you say something, Ravenlock?”

  With eyes as big as moons, gagging, she clawed at him with her fingers.

  “Are you still speaking Wargoth? It’s very garbled.”

  Ravenlock fell face-first into the dirt. Her body jerked, gave one violent shudder, and died beside the others.

  The Wargoths in the village began to stir.

  Still using the power of the stone, Finster tore Moth’s ropes away and sent the broadsword flying over to the man. Moth snatched it out of the air. Finster said, “Avenge yourself, barbarian!” He looked at his fingernails. One was torn off. “You savages will pay for this atrocity!”

  ***

  Moth descended on the Wargoths like a raging bull. He ran through the camp, cutting down enemies that swarmed into his path. His sword struck out with alarming speed. He cut clean through the waist of one man and gored another, hoisting him into the air like meat on a stick and flinging him into the others. Bone shattered, and blood gushed from the seething knot of bodies.

  Moth disemboweled a man. The Wargoth held his guts in long enough to catch the broadsword’s blade between the eyes. Moth ran. Moth chopped. Moth hacked. With two-handed overhand blows, he cut one Wargoth into many pieces. The soft grasses of the village grew slick with blood and sweat.

  Finster strolled into the village. He turned the Wargoths’ weapons against them. In twos and threes, unwilling to release the weapons that moved with a mind of their own, they assaulted themselves. A savage busted his own nose with the crude end of a hammer. One Wargoth’s spear carried itself through another.

  I’d enjoy this if I wasn’t so angry.

  Moth was a whirlwind of action. Every Wargoth that approached him fell. The barbarian’s eyes blazed with the fires of a devil. He mutilated and killed. Every wound he suffered bled briefly then sealed itself up.

  Finster turned the stone huts into weapons. A hail of rocks slammed into the Wargoths with crushing impact.

  Finally, after long minutes of melee, no one in the village moved but Finster and Moth. All of the Wargoth warriors were dead.

  The green veins in Finster’s hands and arms pulsated. His back burned like fire. He took deep breaths, and his body began to cool.

  Covered in gore, Moth disappeared into one of the huts. He came out carrying a dead baby swaddled in a blanket. He located a shovel and started digging a hole just outside of the village. Finster noticed goatskin trousers and other clothing of barbarians, not Wargoth, scattered throughout the village. Scalps and human skin hung from the branches of a dead tree. There were skulls and bones as well. It was a sickening sight. Moth buried the child.

  “Sorry for your losses, Moth,” Finster said. “Centuries of inbreeding gone to waste. A shame for your kind, but not so much for mankind.” Moth cast his heavy eyes on him. “No offense. You’ve had your vengeance. Now what? Please, let me take you to the nearest town. You could use some new trousers. Soon enough, that goatskin and gore is going to reek.”

  CHAPTER 30

  As Finster watched, Moth burned everything that would burn in his village, except for the dead barbarians. He buried the remains of his people. The northern winds fueled the fire, and his eyes reflected the flames for a long time. Then, after long hours laboring, Moth turned his back and started walking.

  Finster followed with a restless mind. For all intents and purposes, he was lost. He didn’t feel lost, however. Instead, he felt liberated. He now had power, true power, and he was learning to harness it. He had been undisciplined when he fought Ingrid. She beat him. He underestimated her, just as she’d underestimated the elemental will of the barbarian. With the power of the Founder’s Stone, he wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

  Still, this scrimmage with Ravenlock could have killed me. I need to be more disciplined.

  When he’d dealt with Ravenlock, Finster had learned all he could about her before he struck. He didn’t underestimate her power. She underestimated his, and it was her undoing.

  Be wise as a serpent, Finster. Keep it up, and you will go far.

  Moth led them off the bitter hillside to where the lands flourished with tall grasses and white-tailed wildlife. He waded through the waist-deep grass toward a river valley.

  Finster sighed, and the tightness in his back eased. Civilization! Praise the impoverished that feed it!

  Without having any idea what the shirtless savage had in mind, Finster took the lead. “Moth, when we get there, let me do the talking. Not that you would say anything, but I suggest that you don’t make a sound either. Small towns like this are full of fragile people, and your appearance will, most likely, be perceived as a threat. I will put their minds at ease. Then we will eat and drink until our bellies swell.”

  Moth’s long strides surpassed Finster’s. The mage had to trot to keep up with him. They walked until they came upon a split-rail fence. Moth swung his leg over the top, and Finster slipped between the top and bottom rails. In the field, cows started mooing.

  “Ah, I see the ladies are welcoming you home. I’ll continue on if you need some privacy. No offense.”

  It was late in the day when they arrived in the riverside town. It was a small establishment made up of about thirty log buildings, with a single road running down the middle. Children were jumping into the river from the boat docks that eased along the coast. The people they passed were friendl
y. Many of them made polite smiles and waved, hustling along as they went about their business.

  These people are possessed. We look like we just crawled out of a hellhole. They should be running for their lives.

  A heavyset man wearing a tavern apron flagged them down with his hairy arms. He had more hair in his moustache than on his head. “Blue Toe! Blue Toe! Come!”

  Finster peered about. There was no one in the street but them. “Is he talking to you, Moth?”

  The man pushed aside the tavern door, which consisted of nothing more than a dark wool curtain. Smiling, he said, “Welcome back, Blue Toe. We missed you!”

  Moth ducked inside.

  “Er, hello. I am Finster.”

  “I am Raul. I own, run, and clean this tavern. Welcome to Swift Rivers. Any friend of Blue Toe’s is a friend of mine.”

  “You are Moth’s friend?”

  “Moth?” Raul’s brow drew down in confusion. “Who is this Moth?”

  “That is what I call Blue Toe.”

  “You call Blue Toe ‘Moth’?” Raul burst out laughing so hard his belly jiggled. “We never knew his name. He does not speak. We just know him as Blue Toe.” He gave Finster a hard slap on the back. “Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Where did you come up with this name ‘Moth’?”

  “It seemed fitting at the time because he eats them.”

  Raul tossed his head back and laughed again. Meaty hands on his hips, he said, “Ha! He eats anything. I like it! Finster, come inside. I want to hear more about you and Moth. Tell me, do you like wine?”

  Finster broke into a delighted smile. “All of it.”

  The toasty air inside the Swift River quickly warmed the chill that had settled in Finster’s bones. Raul seated him at a small table near the stone fireplace. “I’ll be right back,” he said. Finster spied a couple of plump maids with big smiles on their faces, leading Moth by the arms toward the rear of the tavern. “Er, Raul, where are they taking Moth?”