“He was a hairless Neanderthal of a man, spit out of the snow caps of hell. He suffered scores of wounds but kept fighting like a tiger. He tackled my horse, and it threw me to the ground. My very sword bit deep into his back. Deep. The wound opened and then closed fast. Your soldiers were less effective than children against him. They were being slaughtered.” Buckner swallowed. “It wasn’t natural, I tell you, my king. My hairs stand on end just thinking about it.”
“You have failed, Buckner,” Rolem said. He turned his back, put his hands on the grand stone battlement, and faced the sea. “I hate failure.”
“Sire, I would rather die by your hands than those of a filthy savage. I returned, willing to pay the price for my cowardice.”
Roland tapped his fists on the battlement. “No, Buckner, I’m not going to kill you. I like you too much. Your service to me has been nothing but exemplary. If not for that, I assure you that you would be dead. However, I am disappointed.”
He faced Buckner. “I’ve fought many battles myself. I’m one of the few kings in the realm who have tasted blood and steel, perhaps the only one. I stand here and ask myself, if I had been there, what would I have done? I presume I would have led the men in a coordinated effort to capture this barbarian. I could have used the advantage of a lance or spear and gored the man from a distance. I can’t imagine this man being fully effective with shafts of ash wood run through him.” He shook his head. “There would have been so many ways to subdue him. But I’ve dealt with supernatural elements before. There was a man that lurked in the Caverns of Zarnath. He was more boar than man, a terror in our hills. No mortal weapons could harm his skin. Do you know what I did?”
“No, sire.”
“I, with only a little aid from my men, threw a net over him. We weighted it down and dropped him in the bottom of the bay. He’s never been seen or heard from since. He is still out there”—he pointed to the bay—“dead perhaps. But if he’s still alive somehow, I sleep well knowing that he is suffering.”
“Your majesty, I beg for your forgiveness. I panicked. Give me the opportunity to capture these men one last time. With your wisdom, I know that I can do it.”
The soft-eyed king smiled. He leaned over and put his hands on Buckner’s shoulders. “No, Buckner, you’ve served me well enough. I realize I’ll need a different kind of net to capture this pair. You are dismissed.” He looked up, over Buckner’s shoulder, and nodded.
A dagger tip burst from Buckner’s chest. Stunned, eyes fading from light to dark, he gasped. “You said you wouldn’t kill me, my king.”
“I didn’t kill you. She did.”
Buckner turned. A woman shimmered out of thin air and quavered in his sight. His last dying word was “Assassin.”
The woman’s robes were made of rich fabric that seemed to move with a life of its own. Her face was pleasant, her eyes cold, and her disposition deadly.
“Did you hear all you need to know, Alexandria?” the king asked.
Her voice was a whisper. “More than enough. The Circle will handle this.”
THE SORCERER’S COMMAND - PART 3
CHAPTER 41
Sitting on a small terrace in the kingdom of Rayland, the middle-aged Finster sipped on a goblet of chilled wine. It was late morning, the sun shone on the Free River, and boats were moving up and down the river, docking and pulling out. A girl with yellow hair and a rich brown tan fanned Finster with a large wooden fan shaped like a leaf.
“A little faster, child,” Finster said, wiping the sweat that ran down from his temple with the sleeve of his robes. “The humidity is stifling.”
The little girl’s speed didn’t change. She just waved the leaf, up and down, with her eyes fixed on Moth.
Agitated, Finster snapped his fingers in front of the little girl’s face. “I said speed it up, urchin.” The little girl put more of her shoulders in it. “No, you’re waving harder, not faster. I want faster.” Seeing the confusion in the girl’s eyes, he shook his head and said, “Oh, never mind. I’m not in the mood to deal with any more stupid.” His eyes slid to Moth. “Or mutes for that matter.”
Moth sat on the terrace wall with one leg dangling over the side. His eyes were cast on the waters. Finster had purchased new clothing for the both of them. He’d tossed away sorcerous robes for something more common. His robes were beige, but with some golden flair woven along the hem. Moth wore a linen pullover and a pair of sandals. His muscular bare arms were still exposed, but he looked more human than savage for a change. Almost casual. As always, he hadn’t said a word, but remained a huge shadow at Finster’s side.
“Lord Finster,” a woman said, stepping out onto the terrace from within the apartment where they were staying. She was very pretty, with the same golden hair and deep tan skin as the little girl. She wore silks that clung well to her curves. A wooden tray with food was clutched in her hands. “Are you ready to eat? I’ve prepared a fine meal. Meat, baked flatbreads, and hen eggs. It will hold you through the day.”
“A little later, Dizon,” Finster said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I just want to enjoy the morning with few interruptions. Eh, is it possible that you can find another young imbecile more proficient using a leaf? This one is lacking.”
Taken aback, Dizon said, “Lord Finster, my daughter is no imbecile. She’s just shy. What is it you wish?”
“A breeze, that is what I wish,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “For the sake of the Red Citadel, where is the breeze? We are on the river. There should be a breeze.”
Dizon set the tray down on a small table near Moth. The barbarian turned his head toward it. “Eat, oversized one. Enjoy. As for you, Lord Finster, you are thinking of the sea. The wind doesn’t always blow on the river. Now is the time of the ebbs. It will pass.” She slipped behind Finster, put her fingers on his head, and started to massage him. “Just relax.”
The tight muscles in Finster’s neck eased. “Your fingers are magic, Dizon.”
“I know,” she said.
The scarab in Finster’s back, containing the Founder’s Stone, throbbed. The chronic pulsations were so intense that he hardly ever got any sleep. He couldn’t even recollect sleeping for a solid hour in the past several days. Things had happened fast since he acquired the stone and harnessed its power. He battled Ingrid to the death and fought off a small army of the king’s men. It was a lot to deal with. So, he drank, heartily and heavily, dulling his senses, trying to put himself in a comatose slumber. That proved to be dangerous as his mind, body, and magic took on a personality of their own. Now, he was trying to avoid it.
Finster sipped his morning wine. It didn’t have the same burn in his throat that most wines did. Rather, it was more fruit juice. It was sweet, like raspberries and honey. He put the purple liquid away from his lips and scowled down at it. “Nothing beats the real thing. All grapes should be fermented.”
Dizon’s hands moved down to his neck and shoulders.
Moth picked up a plate of food and began shoving it into his mouth.
Finster’s shoulders tensed. He’d just as well be done with the savage, but he wanted the rings of power. All eight of them. Unfortunately, Moth had swallowed them all, giving the barbarian bizarre and unpredictable powers.
A soft, perfumed hand covered Finster’s eyes. Dizon’s lips brushed against his ear as she softly said, “Close your eyes, and forget about everything.”
“That’s impossible,” he replied quietly, “but I’ll try.” Meditation was a big part of the sorcerer’s practice, but it didn’t come easily now. His will wrestled against the artifact imbedded in his body. It wasn’t just something that he could turn on and off when he needed it. It had a life of its own. It dug, probed, and burned, taking a little bit of Finster at a time. He knew there were consequences in dealing with ancient magic, but he never imagined it would be a struggle like this.
And with great powers come great troubles.
By now, Rolem the Grand would have a bounty on F
inster’s head so high the collector could purchase a kingdom. Finster and Moth had destroyed three ships and killed over a hundred knights. No doubt, another army would be coming. Perhaps.
The king of Mendes was no fool. He didn’t become the ruler of the most dominant land of the Seven Kingdoms by proxy. He earned it. Rolem was a king of ambition. He wouldn’t have aligned himself with Ingrid if he hadn’t been. She acquired the rings and came after Finster to get the Founder’s Stone. With such omnipotent possessions in a king’s grip, he would perhaps have enough power to rule the Seven Kingdoms of the Gallatan Sea.
“Are you feeling any relief, Lord Finster?” Dizon said.
“No, but keep trying.”
On and off, Finster contemplated moving far away with the stone. He’d managed a low profile for years, but Ingrid the Insane found him. He came to the conclusion that he’d have the same result when dealing with Rolem. A king like that wouldn’t stop. Ambition fueled itself. The king would use Ingrid’s death as his motivation. He’d stop at nothing to find Finster or Moth. Finster considered moving far north, beyond the northernmost kingdom of Umpton, and into the wilderness beyond. But that wasn’t Finster’s way.
I have enough power to live my life the way I want now, and more than enough power to preserve it. The fingers in his veiny hands clutched in and out. The boats in the docks bounced up and down on the waters. Cries and alarms came up from the people jumping away from the riverboats that had suddenly come to life on their own. If you want my stone, Rolem, you’re just going to have to take it from my corpse. But you’ll have to kill me first, and frankly I don’t think that can be done, not by you, not by anybody. I am almighty.
CHAPTER 42
Finster remained seated until the sunset came. Dizon and her daughter, after making their rounds, came to the apartment to check on him and Moth. He had dismissed the girl, whose little arms fanned him until she could fan no more, by saying, “If I knew you were going to be so bad at this, I would have just done it myself.” Needless to say, the leaf-shaped fan floated in the air, waving side to side, creating a brisk wind. Finster controlled it without hardly thinking. His mind toyed with other things he could do.
“Dizon, who is the king of Rayland these days? Tell me it’s not still Geoffrey. He was such a weakling and had too much of a fondness for pies and cakes. The last time I saw him, he couldn’t walk. He just sat there, sinking into a bed of satin pillows.” His head and neck gave a little tremor. “Eek.”
Dizon came out on the terrace, running a comb through her hair. Her eyes shone like the sun. “No, Geoffrey is long dead. His heart failed him. But his son continues to thrive behind the walls of the castle. I used to be a part of his harem.”
Finster turned his head toward her. His expression soured. “Is he like his father?”
“No, I’d say he’s more like one of the River Knights. He’s dark-headed and strapping. No one believes he’s the true son of Geoffrey, but it doesn’t matter what we think. Only what his mother thinks, and she thinks the young king is a god.”
“Oh, don’t they all. So, what is this king’s name then?”
“King Alrick. He’s very peculiar,” she said, setting her comb down and sitting on Finster’s lap. She stroked his bald head, running her fingers down to the sharp beard on his chin. “Not as peculiar as you, but I like peculiar. Is there anything I can do for you, Lord Finster?”
Her touch made his mouth water. His throat tightened. He ran his fingers down her slender waist, over her hip, and stopped on the top of her rear. He gave a gentle squeeze. “I paid for your privacy and discretion, Dizon. Perhaps I’ll sample your wares another time, but now all of my time requires meditation.”
“You suffer. You cannot meditate in misery,” she said.
“No, this is what I wanted. It’s a delight, just uncomfortable at times. It’s very complicated being a wizard.” He took her hands and kissed them both on the knuckles. She giggled. He was certain it was an act. She was a seductress, a temptress, a lady of the night who took pay and gave pleasure. Her beautiful eyes sucked him in. His heart sped up. “Oh, why not!” He smiled. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been. Oh, yes I do.” His mouth twisted. “That was embarrassing.”
Dizon let out a delightful squeal when he picked her up. “Finster, you surprise me!”
“You shouldn’t be. You are as light as a feather.” He started into the apartment. Moth sat in a chair, leaning over the terrace wall, watching the people go by. “Moth, don’t go anywhere.”
The huge hairless savage didn’t say a word. No shrug, no grunt, no nothing.
“Does he ever speak?” Dizon asked.
“Not yet.” Finster carried her inside. They spent the next hour laboring between the sheets in the throes of passion. Drenched in sweat, Finster put his robes back on. Dizon lay on her back, sleeping. “I still have it.” The sex did him some good. His back didn’t burn so much between his shoulders. He felt loose. “She did things for me that wine couldn’t. I need to remember that.”
Finster made his way back onto the terrace. Moth was gone. “Bloody noses!” Finster said. He looked over the terrace wall. The apartment was on the top level of the buildings, with several levels of apartments below them. People moved up and down the streets that ran from one level to another. He searched as far as his eyes could see. There was no sign of Moth.
The girl walked out onto the terrace and stood by Finster. She looked up at him.
“Little dumb one, I don’t suppose you know where the big man went?”
“My name is Rinny, and I don’t think I would tell you if I did,” she said, words rolling off her tongue like water.
“She speaks. How annoying. And here I made the mistake of thinking that I might be around another mute.” He leaned toward her. “You draw my ire. Don’t you know that you should be more respectful of your elders when those thin little lips of yours speak?”
The girl shrugged. “Will you do magic for me?”
“Are you bargaining with me, child?”
She shrugged again.
“Listen, you fatherless little cur, tell me where my, er, barbarian went, and I won’t throttle the brains inside your skull.” He poked her in the forehead. “My touch is death.”
“I know who my father is,” she said.
“I don’t care. Where did Moth go?”
The girl climbed up on the terrace wall and made her way up the partition steps onto the roof. She pointed to Castle Rayland, which rested a few miles back on the highest point of the hill. Its golden banners on each and every spire top flapped in the wind.
With his back to the terrace wall, Finster said with his arms folded over his chest, “Am I to understand that Moth went to see the king?”
“No, that’s where my father lives. He is the king.”
Finster’s chin dipped. Shaking his head, he said, “Listen, little nuisance, whether your father is the king or not is of no concern to me. Did you see where Moth went?”
She nodded.
Pulling at his chin hairs, he said, “Well?”
“Show me magic first. Like the fan. But better.”
Pushing up his sleeves, he said, “Oh, I’m going to show you some magic you will never forget, little goat. Now, come down here and sit in this chair.” One of the patio chairs slid over the deck into the middle of the terrace.
Eyes wide, Rinny hurried down from the roof and plopped her butt in the chair.
“Hold onto the arms… tightly,” he said.
The girl’s knuckles went white on the chair’s arms. A big smile crossed her face.
The chair lifted from the ground. Slowly, it spun in midair, getting faster.
“Do you like that, little pest?”
“It’s a delight! It’s a delight!” Her hair covered her eyes. She brushed it away. “Faster, faster!”
“Tell me where Moth went?”
“To the stadium! He followed the crowd to the stadium! Wheeeee!”
Wi
th a twist of his finger, the girl spun so fast she flew out of her seat. Finster caught her in midair with his mind.
Holding her stomach, she said, “Let’s do that again.”
Finster patted her on the head. “When your mother wakes up, tell her where I went. I have to find an enormous idiot.”
CHAPTER 43
“Of all the times to wander, he decides to wander now,” Finster muttered to himself. He hurried down Rayland’s busy roadways. A sea of people bottled up as they headed toward the stadium. “Please tell me he didn’t go in there. Please.” He caught a pair of women looking at him like he was crazy. Sticking his neck out and popping his eyes, he said to them, “Yes, I talk to myself. Is that a crime?”
Wringing his hands as the hem of his robes dusted over the stone-paved streets, he pushed his way up the road. He’d explicitly explained to Moth on more than one occasion the need for discretion. They needed to lay low and get some idea of what Rolem would throw at them next. That’s why he’d hired Dizon. She had her ear low to the ground and would be able to tell him about any unexpected arrivals. Of course, Rolem might just send another tremendous force of knights after him, making his efforts obvious. As for Moth, he could never tell if the barbarian heard him or not. The savage was an enigma.
I need to just kill him. It would save me additional head pains.
Crossing the street, he stepped on a man’s toe.
“Ow!” The thick-necked man glared at Finster. He wore a patch over his eye. His greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a swashbuckler’s sword and dagger were on his hips. Tattoos covered his chest and meaty arms. He grabbed Finster’s wrist and jerked it. “Watch out, twig neck!”
“Excuse you,” Finster said, giving the man a look of disdain.
The Red Citadel and the Sorcerer's Power Page 14