by Greg Curtis
Daylon would probably be in the building somewhere, he guessed. Quite probably Daylon’s mother and brothers as well. But he hadn't come to see them. He'd come because this was the only other place in all of Styrion where he knew there would be a collection of fragments of magic metal.
Unexpectedly he found them anyway. The ceremony was being carried out right in front of the Council Chambers, something he just hadn't expected. But this was even less a ceremony than what his father had turned the one in the Hold into. The afflicted had been rounded up and were standing in ranks, waiting to go up and receive their new spells from seven big burlap sacks that had been set out for them. The men were shirtless, the women nearly so with their vests having no sleeves, all so that those watching could see the markings appearing on their skin. Soldiers were keeping their weapons trained on the afflicted, making certain that they all went through the procedure. And he could tell that they were carrying out their duties with ruthless efficiency. There were dark stains on the limestone that he knew immediately were dried blood. The blood he assumed, of those who had refused.
Meanwhile Marda and her sons – all three of them – were standing proudly on the balcony above, looking on. Daylon was wearing a circlet of precious metals and jewels that looked very much like the one the King wore. It seemed he already thought he was thee king.
That angered him. It was just wrong! So very wrong. This wasn't a ceremony. It was a crime! Hendrick's blood boiled as he saw his stepmother and her sons standing there, taking in the spectacle as if it was entertainment. And those they were forcing into this included the very young and the very old. They had absolutely no shame! No decency!
But they were going to learn those things he decided then and there as his face whitened with anger. They were going to be humbled as few others ever had been. He had come for the fragments, but he had enough time to punish them. Just.
Hendrick ran into the Council Chambers, a blurry figure moving far too fast to be seen. He'd had enough of being locked out of them he decided. Then once he'd found the stairs, he quickly found the balcony to where the would-be king and his family were standing.
They were truly horrible people he thought. Not just for what they were doing but for the way that they seemed to be taking pleasure in it. He could see a smile just beginning to curl around the corners of Marda's mouth. And Daylon wasn't nearly so subtle or controlled in his facial expressions. He looked to be laughing. The rest of the family were more restrained as they stood further back on the balcony looking on. A couple of the wives and grown children even looked a little ashamed. But Marda and her sons were celebrating this. Hendrick really hated that.
A few slashes with his dimensional blade quickly relieved the four of them of their belts and ceremonial swords, and then he took out the railings of the balcony so that there was nothing to obscure them from the people below. This had to be seen. Then he began cutting them out of their clothes until they were dressed just like their victims.
After that he rushed back down to the ground, grabbed four of the Illuminium fragments, and returned to them. And then finally he began binding the fragments to their cheeks with strips of cloth that he cut from the drapes to the window behind them. He bound them tight, under their chins and around their necks, even covering their eyes, so that that they wouldn't come loose quickly or easily.
After that it was time to watch. And even though he had no time he decided he had enough for that. Hendrick rushed back down to the ground, taking just enough time to cut all the weapons of the soldiers into pieces, grabbed the seven sacks of fragments and found a place just off to the side where he could watch.
Then he let the spell of haste go.
A heartbeat later there was confusion and panic. Soldiers were staring at their muskets, watching pieces of them clatter to the ground. The would be royal family were on the balcony grabbing at their heads, and trying to work out why they were bound and half undressed. Everybody else was spinning around trying to work out what was happening. And he just stood there and watched as the royal family struggled with the knots and tried not to fall over. Others of course rushed to help untie them, but not quickly enough.
Twenty seconds later there was a scream from one of the women on the balcony. And when he looked Hendrick could see she was pointing at Daylon's neck. At the tracery of pale green lines starting to run down it.
In that moment Hendrick knew, the war had ended. And while everyone else had fallen deathly silent, he yelled out in triumph. Loud enough for them to hear him on the balcony. For them to turn and see him. And for Marda who'd finally got enough of her bindings unwrapped to see him to start screaming for him to be killed. Unfortunately for her she was screaming at soldiers with no weapons while they in turn were staring at her realising she was afflicted.
Hendrick waved at her, noticing that the first hints of green were just starting to wind their way across her cheek as well, and then hasted himself again. He would have dearly loved to have stayed and watched. But he just couldn't spare the time. But still as he ran from the city with the sacks of fragments on his shoulder, he could imagine the screaming as they realised just what he'd done to them. And he hoped, the laughter of their victims as they saw it for themselves.
Of course, now it meant that the next in line was Marthan, Lady Simone's eldest, and one of the slowest witted people to ever draw breath. But every plan he told himself, had its problems.
Twenty minutes later Hendrick was back outside the Hold. The Mythagan were still standing where he’d left them, staring at what was happening to the city. This time though, he didn't haste them. He had no wish to speak to them. Instead he just dropped off six of the sacks in front of them and then stepped across to the twilight world with the seventh filled with Mithril.
After that it was time to prepare himself. Mostly that meant putting every ounce of will he had into the spell of haste on him. Everything depended on it. If the spell failed while he was out, he would return to a world in which everyone was already dead. And while the spell had never failed him before, he was worried. It wasn't a spell that required him to keep holding it while he used it. But he'd never left it working while he'd slept before. And he was going to sleep. But it had to be done.
Hendrick took a deep breath, muttered a short prayer to every god he knew, and then plunged his hand once more into the container of spells. It was time to finally know everything that the ancient wizards had known.
No matter what the price of that knowledge might be to his soul.
Chapter Thirty Five
Life was confusion and panic. It was noise and chaos. A cacophony of yelling. It was almost unbearable. And yet what choice did he have? Life was all he had. And from the instant he woke he knew that.
He'd gone too far. Hendrick knew that from the moment he'd woke up. From even before that. He'd known it in his sleep. He'd dreamed it. But it didn't matter. What was done was done. There was only the need to take control. To master the magic. And he had to do it quickly. He wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't master it. Madness? Death? Something even worse? Hendrick refused to think about it.
So no matter how the spells yelled and screamed at him, demanded his attention, he focused on what mattered. First he checked that the haste spell was still working. And then he concentrated on each new spell one at a time and ignored the rest. He ignored the hunger and the thirst which were ravaging him. He put aside the freezing cold that was making his very bones ache. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was mastering the spells and silencing them. Over and over again he cast each spell. Learning it. Using it. Making it his. And finally making it grow quiet. Before reaching for the next one.
How many had he absorbed this time? As the endless hours crawled by on the icy cold twilight world, he found himself wondering that. The first time he'd picked up maybe fifty something spells by sticking his hand in the barrel. This time he thought it was more than that. It felt like more. Much more. It felt like hu
ndreds. And the time taken to learn and master each one, felt like forever.
Yet time itself was an illusion. At least for him. As the hours passed for him, time barely moved in the world. It had slowed to a crawl. It continued to crawl while he'd slept too. Four or five days – he guessed – had passed for him. But back in Styrion, the hour hand of every clock had failed to click more than a couple of times. At least he hoped that was the case. He couldn't check it when his mind was in such chaos. But the haste spell was still working, and he had to hope that it had given him the time he needed. He had time, he told himself. Not eternity, but enough – he hoped. He just didn't know if he could endure it.
He wouldn't do this again. He couldn't. Hendrick understood that clearly as he fought with the magic. And with the horrible voice of the ancient wizard whispering in his head as he celebrated his new found power. This time he had gone too far. Much too far. And he was going to need the luck of the gods to survive. But regardless he told himself, he was going to do it. He had no choice.
So Hendrick sat on that warped section of rock and opened dimensional portals, doors and windows without number. He raised barriers and shields of every imaginable type and called forth weapons to destroy them. He summoned creatures from a dozen different worlds and sent many more things away to other worlds. He stretched and narrowed distances and time. He did stranger things still as the spells demanded his will. And even though his tiredness soon gave way to exhaustion, he kept going. There could be no rest until this was done.
Should he have done what he had? That question kept nagging away at him as he struggled. Because it was madness even if he'd had good reasons. He just couldn't quite believe them. The city had to be saved. His friends were there. The only family he had too. All of them slowly choking to death. But even as he kept reminding himself of all those reasons for his having done what he'd done, another voice was yelling at him, that it had nothing to do with that. The Behemoth was nothing but a nuisance. Its servants could be easily dealt with. And family didn't matter. It was about power. Always and only. Everything was about power. He was a mage. A wizard. He was born to command the world. To shape and destroy it. That was his destiny. Nothing else mattered.
That voice was louder now. It was more insistent. It kept trying to make itself heard. Shouting at him inside his own skull. And against it the only thing he could think to keep telling it was that he was a brewer. Somehow that just didn't seem like enough.
But he fought the voice with all he had, just as he fought to control the spells. Because there could be no surrender to it. If he gave in he was lost. Everything he was would be lost. He would no longer be Hendrick – Instead he would become the puppet of a long dead wizard.
“I will not yield!” Hendrick suddenly shouted that out to the world, even as exhaustion threatened to take away his ability to fight. And he did it again, every time he felt like collapsing. He used it to make him reach for each new spell and begin taking command of it. And he screamed it in triumph at each spell as he took control of it and then sent it away.
And somehow, he kept going. Making it through the endless confusion. Mastering an unknown number of spells. Silencing, at least for a while, the voice. Until finally he found himself at peace inside his own skull.
That was a glorious moment. A victory to be celebrated. But he simply didn't have the time or the strength for that. And soon after the final spell had been mastered and the voice had been cowed, he felt the world beginning to slip away from him. The twilight was giving way to night.
Hendrick fought it with everything he had. There was still his family and a million lives to save. And suddenly he knew how. The knowledge was there inside him. So he slapped himself hard in the face with his hand. He screamed with all his might at the twilight sky. He stood up and jumped around, swinging his arms wildly, trying to get some blood flowing. It seemed to help a little. Enough for him to cast his first spell.
Hendrick built a portal back to Styrion. A large one surely twenty yards across, and a heartbeat later he was standing there, looking back at the city. And he knew as he stared at it that his time was short. The sky was already a lot darker inside the barrier than outside. Just as he knew there was no way through the barrier. He had to go around it.
The Mythagan were still there, standing, staring as were so many others, and before he even thought about it, he hasted them. He needed them. They had magic he didn't. Magic he would never have.
“With me! Now!” Hendrick yelled at them. The time for subtlety had passed. The time for manners was long gone. “We have a million people to save! Quickly!” His words seemed to work and they hurried towards him.
“What's –.”
“No time.” Hendrick cut the woman off rudely as the group stepped into the twilight world. “I need light here. A beacon to mark this spot. This is the way out. And I need a path, even footing, leading that way for about half a league.” He pointed in the direction that the city would be if they were in Styrion. “Hurry!”
With that he left them, walking across the broken rocks in the direction he'd indicated, and soon there was light behind him and the path underfoot was becoming more even as the others worked.
“What are you –?”
“It's just a barrier,” he tried to explain. “Not a portal. It's dimensional and immense. I can't push through it. I can't break it. I can't portal through it. But it still only exists in Styrion. I can portal around it and into the city from another realm as long as I'm in the exact right spot. And the people can escape.”
“You can do that?” The woman sounded surprised.
“I can now,” he told her. But why didn't she know how to do it herself? Hendrick quickly pushed the question away though. He couldn't let himself be distracted. He had to work.
“You look like –.”
“For you an hour or two has passed, for me a week. I haven't eaten or drunk in all that time. I have another hundred spells burning through my flesh. I'm freezing cold and almost falling down on my feet. But I will make it.” That last was the only thing that mattered. And Hendrick started walking more quickly, just to make certain.
Thirty minutes later they were in position. He could see across the barrier between worlds to the central market of Styrion Hold where he could cast his portal.
A heartbeat after that they were standing in the Hold.
Hendrick screamed when they arrived. He threw back his head and he yelled to the heavens with all the strength he had left. He'd done it! And while the air was thick and cloying, and it stung the eyes and tasted of sulphur, it was wonderful. So he breathed deep and yelled some more. And then he finally let the spell of haste go after so long and kept yelling.
People came out from where they'd been sheltering from the foul air when they heard him. Storekeepers and stall holders, no doubt wondering if he had lost his senses. He just yelled at them to step through the portal and head towards the light on the other side and to safety.
A few did, and once that happened, the others followed. It became the start of an exodus.
“Mark this portal with light”, Hendrick shouted back through the portal to the Mythagan. “Make it shine so bright that it can be seen right across the city. And then start shouting the news of the way out to everyone in the city. Make your voices heard from one side of the city to the other. People need to gather their families together, check on their neighbours, and come here. Tell them only to grab what they can as they hurry out. There is no time to pack. And tell them to run towards the light. To run hard.”
The Mythagan did as he said, and soon he could see people heading their way from all directions. He could hear the voices of the Mythagan echoed across the city. Had he been fast enough? He didn't know. He thought they had a matter of hours left. Six, maybe twelve at best. It would be long enough he told himself. It had to be.
As he stood there watching, the stream quickly grew larger. He only wished he could help by casting the haste spell on the entire city
populous. But he couldn't. He didn't have the strength anymore. It was all he could do just to stand there watching. And praying.
Someone handed him a flask of water at one point and he guzzled it down greedily, so thirsty that he couldn't even think straight. And when they handed him a hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese he tore into it like a wild animal, barely chewing as he practically gulped it down like the water. But he didn't care. All he cared was that there was now a torrent of people walking through the portal, heading to safety.
“You look terrible, Hendrick.”
Hendrick looked up to see his mother standing there in front of him. And to discover that he was sitting on the ground for some reason. He didn't remember doing that. But he guessed he knew who had given him the food and water.
“That good? I feel much worse!” He laughed at his pitiful attempt at a joke. “You should go through with Myka and the family.”