Mykal stood, cupped a hand over his fist and dropped down, elbow crashing into the warrior’s chest. He rolled onto the Caver, straddling his ribs, close to his throat and threw punch after punch into the man’s face. The nose broke immediately. Blood spilled.
When the threat was eliminated, Mykal stopped, pushed himself up and walked away from the warrior who lay wheezing, and writhing in pain.
The leader of the Cavers threw his arms in the air and spoke.
“You have to finish him,” Blodwyn said. “It is a fight to the death.”
Mykal looked back. The warrior had rolled onto his side, was curled into a ball, attempting to recover from the beating.
“It’s done. I’ve won,” Mykal said.
“It’s to the death,” Blodwyn said. “You must kill him, Mykal. We’re all dead if you don’t.”
Mykal shook his head, looked around the cave.
All eyes were on him.
The gathered warriors began tapping ends of their spears on the rocks. It was slow at first. The tempo increased. Faster. Harder.
The leader was still talking. He said the same thing over and over.
Mykal wasn’t going to kill the warrior. The fight had been fair. He’d won. The man was beaten. “I can’t kill him,” Mykal said, but no one was listening.
Karyn was staring at him. His eyes plead with her for help. She had none to offer.
He looked at Galatia, who nodded at him.
Coil’s lips were pressed together. His eyes said it all.
He couldn’t do it.
Wouldn’t.
Someone threw a homemade knife into the ring. The warrior’s hand snaked out and retrieved it. He was on his feet, moving fast.
Karyn screamed out a warning.
Mykal’s hand reached toward the Caver’s leader. The gold dagger pulled free, slicing the cord that tied the garment around his waist, and flew across the cave. The hilt slapped perfectly into his palm as the Caver lunged.
The two men fell together to the ground.
“Mykal!” Karyn cried out.
The warrior pushed himself up, and off of Mykal.
His hands at his midsection. The dagger’s hilt was the only thing visible. Trembling, he gripped the handle and pulled, his body shaking as the dagger’s blade was withdrawn from his flesh. It clattered to the ground when he dropped it. The sound did not echo.
He lifted one leg, as if to stand, but fell over.
His life spilled out from the open wound. Eyes open, the Caver shuddered once, and was then was gone.
Mykal retrieved the dagger, moved from under the warrior’s legs. He dragged himself closer to the man he’d killed. Hot tears ran down his face streaking the dust there. They streaked through the dust covering his body. He looked into the man’s lifeless eyes.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said. Almost nose to nose as he whispered again, “I didn’t mean to.”
Chapter 37
Anthony was dead.
The leader of the Cavers was visibly upset. He barked out commands in his foreign tongue.
Blodwyn’s first rose into the air. He spat words directed at the leader. His first shook the entire time he spoke. The anger drained what energy he had left. His head dropped forward, chin to chest.
The leader said something else. It was short, and to the point.
Blodwyn whispered. “We are free to go.”
Mykal stood. The Cavers backed away from him. None of them expected the young man to defeat their champion. His magic demanded fear and respect. They continued tapping the ends of their spears on the rocks.
“Karyn, you’ve got to help Blodwyn,” Mykal said.
Coil noted, “He’s not looking good.”
“I’m okay,” Blodwyn said, though covered in sweat.
Mykal glared at the leader, seething. “You have medicine for the poison. Give it to him.”
The leader locked eyes with Mykal, but remained silent.
Mykal said, “Wyn, tell him to give you the medicine.”
“Just get us out of the mountain, Mykal,” Blodwyn said.
Mykal looked to Galatia.
“I can help once we’re out of the caves.”
“You’re certain?” Mykal said.
She nodded. “I am. We must hurry. The longer we wait, the more the poison spreads.”
“You stay close to me,” Mykal said, and Karyn nodded.
“Take my things,” Quill said, and handed Mykal his recovered bow and quiver. He lifted Anthony and slung him over a shoulder.
Mykal handed Galatia Blodwyn’s staff, and hung the extra quiver and bow over his back. Coil helped Mykal carry Blodwyn, each to a side. They got Blodwyn to his feet, and draped his arms over them. “Get us out of here, Coil,” he said.
When Coil tried going back the way they’d come, the path was blocked. Two warriors in white and red stood in front of them, their spears crossed in an X.
The leader grunted. His words were sharp, and hostile.
Blodwyn said, “They won’t let us return that way. We have to move forward. One of their men will lead us out.”
Mykal didn’t care where they exited, as long as they didn’t have to spend any more time below the mountain. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”
The Caver guide beckoned, and started up a narrow, winding path. Mykal and the others followed close behind. “Hang in there, Wyn,” he said.
“I’m okay,” Blodwyn said. “It’s okay. You did good back there.”
Mykal didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. The reality had not set in. He hoped to hold it off as long as possible. He would consider what had happened after the journey concluded. Doing so now would tear open the wound raw, and painful. “Save your energy, Wyn. No talking,” he said.
Quill grunted behind them. Anthony was not a small man. He couldn’t be light to carry. Once out of the mountains, they could bury him properly.
Mykal ignored his own throbbing pain. Lugging Blodwyn exacerbated those injuries greatly. His broken ribs made difficult breathing almost impossible.
Galatia and Karyn were silent. They walked side by side, directly behind Mykal.
“Can you help Blodwyn now, Galatia? He’s not doing so good. He has no strength at all,” Mykal said. He noticed Blodwyn dragging both feet, when he’d been trying to walk moments ago. “I know nothing about this poison, nor do I know anything about healing. Please, do something.”
Coil lit a torch from a sconce.
Before he asked a second time, he heard the faint sound of her whispers. They floated to his ears. Behind and overlaying his normal vision, he saw those colors which denoted her sorcery. Mostly red filaments of seemingly solid light zigged and zagged. There was some blue, and a touch of yellow. Those weren’t as bright, and were more translucent. The lines were distracting, somewhat occluding his mundane sight. Blinking did nothing but enhance the opaqueness of each strand.
Galatia’s voice was lyrical, none of the words recognizable. They soothed Mykal just the same. He grew calmer with each syllable uttered.
Blodwyn’s toes stopped dragging, and took some of his own weight. Mykal noticed Coil was watching him. Their load became lighter, as Blodwyn regained his strength, his balance. Soon, as Galatia’s intonations came more quickly, her words louder, Blodwyn lifted his arms off Mykal, and Coil’s shoulders, and began walking under his own power.
“I’m feeling—”
“Shh,” Mykal said. “Let the magic work. Don’t interrupt it. Let Galatia finish her spell.”
The colors overlaying Mykal’s sight twisted around each other, braiding into one thick, unbreakable strand.
“I’m feeling much better, Mykal. I can walk now, thank you.”
“If you grow tired, there is no shame in asking for help,” Mykal said.
Blodwyn smiled, and patted his chest. He appeared confused, and then said, “I am not sure if I’ve ever felt this good.”
Mykal looked back at Galatia. “Thank you.”
“My staff?” Blodwyn said.
“I have it,” Galatia said.
“You are a most powerful curer,” he said, and took back his staff. Mykal watched him eye the staff, and hold it, as if reunited with a long lost friend. It was strange. For now, he left the exchange alone.
“Not nearly, but thank you,” she said.
“Back there, before we left,” Mykal said, “what was it you said to their leader?”
“The price has been paid, your game played. You must let us go. Have you no honor?!”
“I’m more curious to know how you came to speak their language,” Coil said.
“If there is time for stories, perhaps that will be one I chose to share,” he said.
The guide stopped. He stood by the rock wall and pointed. It had been a direct path, more or less. They walked by the man, but only Blodwyn offered up a thank you.
It sounded like what he said would translate into thank you, anyway. Within fifty yards they saw an exit, a large gaping hole leading from the caves to the outside. Mykal wanted to run for it. He could not wait for fresh air.
The sun was just coming up. Directly overhead, the sky was still shrouded in the near-blackness of night. Stars twinkled. To the east, the shades of blue lightened. Billowing clouds were splashed in brilliant pink where sunrays touched them. Some of the pink spilled over, turning closer sections of sky soft blush.
Quill set Anthony down, placing him gently on a flat rock.
“I did not think we were this high up,” Karyn remarked.
While they were far from the distant summit, they were indeed overlooking the old empire. From where they stood, a cliff’s edge before them, they could see Crimson Falls, and the beginning of the Isthmian Sea. Far to the right were the treetops of the Cicade Forest. On the left, the Muye Mountain range.
“It seemed like we were down close to the core of the world. We descended the entire time. It doesn’t seem possible that now I feel like the clouds are within reach,” Mykal said.
Karyn stood in front of Mykal, and placed her hands on his hips.
Looking deep into her beautiful eyes, Mykal stood speechless. He wanted to react, to lean forward and kiss her. Before he moved, though, he felt it. She was not being flirtatious. She was using her magic, her healing.
His insides vibrated. He cringed as broken bones shifted. He almost shouted out loud, but instead bit his tongue as a burning sensation built within him. He thought her hands might melt through his skin. His cracked ribs shifted back into place.
“I’m almost done,” she said. “Shh. I’m almost done.”
Her magic was not visible to him as Galatia’s was. Whatever she did was obviously that much different than whatever Galatia did.
“I have had a really good time, but this is it for me,” Coil said. He was already backing away. “You people have a lot on your plates. I wish you all the best. It’s time for me to leave, okay? I don’t really want any part of this anymore. You all take care now. And if you are ever in Ironwall, please, stay away from me.”
Mykal raised a hand to wave goodbye, but Coil didn’t linger. He leapt over a boulder, and was gone.
“He’s going to return home with some interesting stories,” Blodwyn said. “Makes me wonder how many people will listen and believe his tales, and how many will assume he’s gone stark raving mad.”
Mykal couldn’t recall a time he’d ever felt more tired. His eyes burned. They wanted to close. He knew that if he laid down and rested his head on a rock, he’d fall asleep within moments.
“We’ve just one more item to find,” Galatia said.
Mykal didn’t want to look for anything else. He envied Coil. The chance to hop over a rock and head home was very appealing. If a war was coming, who was to say when for sure? It may not happen tomorrow, or next month, or next year.
Even if it took two years, though. Was that acceptable? If he had the chance, and the power to prevent countless deaths, how could he walk away? What kind of a man would he be? Not one that could look his grandfather in the eye.
“And where are we going?”
“Castle Deep. There are catacombs below the castle. The chalice we want is there,” Galatia said.
“Of course it is in the catacombs. Why wouldn’t it be buried below an empty castle? Spiders, and crazy warriors. This one probably does have ghosts haunting the place, not like the Cicade that has archers with lethal aim,” Mykal said.
Karyn placed a hand on his forearm. The comfort she provided was a powerful thing. She could heal broken bones, and calm the beat of his heart.
They collected brush, and branches for a proper pyre.
Quill started the kindling on fire. Anthony’s clothing caught. It wasn’t going to be enough. Mykal pressed his palm against air, felt the resistance, and the intensity of the fire grew. There were crackles and pops as skin heated up, blistered, and blackened. The pungent odor of cooking flesh billowed around them.
“He died saving my life,” Karyn said.
Quill sat on a slanted rock across from the body, elbows on knees, hands folded in front of him. He stared at his friend, lost in thought.
Mykal stood beside his uncle. He almost set a hand on his shoulder. He wished he had comforting words. There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would sound meaningful. He kept his mouth shut, and instead sat on the ground, and quietly watched as flames spread, walking over the top of the corpse. The white smoke became grey. The pillar of smoke rose several feet before wind took hold and spread it thin. The steady wind bent the fire, and carried the ashes away.
Karyn began humming. The tune was a Grey Ashland burial hymn.
Anthony died protecting them, defending them. He paid the ultimate price. There was no way he could ever thank the man for what he’d done.
He killed a man. The death marred his soul. The warrior died at his hand, life spilled from the wound he’d inflicted. How could he ask forgiveness, when he was sure he could never forgive himself? It wasn’t mere guilt. He knew right from wrong. Maybe he could have incapacitated the warrior, or used magic? He was a wizard, after all. Powerful magic lived inside him. He could have found a way to end the fight with magic.
He missed his grandfather.
Karyn finished the song, but continued to hum. Those around the fire stood with heads bowed, paying their last respects.
Mykal did not wipe away the tears that fell. He just let them roll down his cheeks.
***
King Hermon Cordillera attempted to stifle excitement as he sat in the saddle. Stopping for the night made the most sense. They could pass through the forest during the following day and, with any luck be on the opposite side before noon. They’d not made it far, with most of the men on foot.
Ida rode beside him. It was a moment before he realized she had fallen forward, and was not riding the horse, as much as being carried by the beast. He reached over and took her reins. He brought their convoy to a halt and dismounted.
Standing next to her horse, the Mountain King shook her leg.
When she did not respond, he snapped his fingers. Sebastian and Helix stepped forward.
“Get her down from there,” King Hermon said, standing aside.
The Voyagers brought the sorcerer to the ground.
“Is she ill?” the knight, Lanster, said.
King Hermon said, “Wake her.”
Sebastian knelt by the woman’s head. He took her by the shoulders. “Witch,” he said, shaking her. “Witch, wake up.”
King Hermon bent over, and slapped her face. “Sorcerer! Sorcerer, I command you to open your eyes!”
He raised a fist preparing to strike.
Her eyes opened.
He reeled backward, as she sat up.
Ida turned toward him. “I have good news. We are not going into the forest.”
The Mountain King shook his head. “What does that mean. It’s right there!”
“We will never catch the wizards if we continue along
this path. You wanted to head them off. Going through the forest will not accomplish anything other than lost time,” she said. “Boys, if you’d help me to my feet.”
Hermon saw the looks on their faces. No one wanted to touch the sorcerer. He did not blame them. Slapping her face had been the first time there had ever been skin on skin contact between the two. The palm of his hand felt dirty, like he needed to wash it with a cloth, and soap, or removed it at the wrist.
“We need to get back to the Shadow,” she said. “Now.”
“The Shadow? Woman are you mad?”
“They are looking for a chalice,” she said.
“Where are they?”
“Right now,” she pointed. Her finger was aimed at the Zenith Mountains. “They are nearly across the mountains, just above Crimson Falls.”
“And where are they going to search for the Chalice?”
“Castle Deep?”
“You think? Or you know?”
“It’s what I have managed to gather. It is where I believe they will be heading.”
Castle Deep. He could not recall the name of the king who’d sat on the throne in that Constantine Realm. It would come to him. Eventually. He had been but a child when the castle was attacked, a northern kingdom that boldly skirted the old empire boundaries. There may have been riders seeking allies, but without an emperor to unify the lands, no one offered aid. The same had happened in the north western lands, in the Evidanus Kingdom. It was more than nonsense. When he ruled, and the surrounding kingdoms were under his command, no enemy from the north, south, east, or west, would dare attack.
The fear of repercussions alone would prevent hostile incursion.
His military might be the reason, though.
The magic that he would direct would demand respect across the entire world.
“Your highness,” Ida said. She pointed toward the forest.
More riders.
“Lanster?” King Hermon said.
“They are my men. They were dispatched to the Cicade.”
Everything was working in his favor. “Wonderful,” he muttered to himself.
“Your highness?” Ida said.
“Stand her up,” King Hermon said.
A full ten minutes passed before the riders reached them.
Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise Page 29