A Wizard's Dark Dominion (The Gods and Kings Chronicles Book 1)

by Lee H. Haywood

  Jeremiah didn’t answer. He suddenly appeared old and feeble. He grabbed the wall for support.

  “I pray there is still a heart in there,” said Cendrik, tapping on Jeremiah’s chest. “Because only a heartless fool would ignore the perils that we face. The Orb is needed to protect the people, to protect your homeland from the reaching hand of our darkest foe. We need it.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “No, the Orb was not meant for this purpose.” A cold resolve entered his voice. “Calycia’s life was your only bargaining chip. You have nothing. This conversation is through. Return me to my cell.”

  “There’s a child, Jeremiah.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes flared wide.

  “I can speak nothing to the child’s pedigree,” continued Cendrik, “only that she is in her fourteenth year of life. How long have you been down here?” He sneered.

  Jeremiah grabbed Cendrik by the neck. This time, the warden did nothing to dodge. Instead, he gave a low whistle and gestured downward with his eyes. He had a knife drawn to Jeremiah’s midsection. “Make no mistake, there are still ways the king can hurt you. If you will not do your duty to the king, perhaps someone else will.” He peered over Jeremiah’s shoulder, down the passage toward the cell door. “What secrets have you told your young apprentice? What dark arts have you taught him? The king is always looking for skilled magics willing to serve.”

  Jeremiah released Cendrik’s neck, a look of defeat in his eyes.

  “Do you believe I put the boy in your cell on a whim?” asked Cendrik. “I’ve been looking for someone like Demetry since the day I arrived. Someone capable of the Old Magic. Someone who could break through your bristling coat of self-loathing. Someone you would be eager to foster and shape in your own image. Someone who could eventually rival you in their mastery of the dark arts.” He gave Jeremiah a lopsided grin. “You may be interested to know that the boy has a vile history of self-preservation. If the king offered Demetry a hand, do you think he would refuse?”

  Jeremiah did not answer, instead he stared at his feet and pawed at the gelding collar locked tight around his throat. “Get this damn thing off my neck and return me to my cell.”

  “Of course.” Cendrik escorted Jeremiah back down the stairwell. “When I return tomorrow, you will tell me the whereabouts of the Orb. If you don’t, I intend to take Demetry away from you. He is the king’s property, after all.” He removed the collar and shoved Jeremiah back into the cell.

  Jeremiah kept his composure until the door slammed shut and the lock turned over. The telltale step, clack, drag of Cendrik’s gait announced the warden’s departure. As soon as Demetry and Jeremiah were alone, the elderly magic collapsed against the door gasping for breath.

  “He lies. He lies,” managed Jeremiah. His cheeks were tear-stained. Snot clumped in his beard. His chest heaved. Demetry had never seen Jeremiah look so frail, so defeated. “Calycia can’t be dead. She can’t be,” Jeremiah kept repeating over and over again.

  If there was one thing Demetry knew, it was that denial got men nowhere. He had gone that route with his mother and Joshua, and in each incident he had suffered the consequences. Right now, a hard decision had to be made and he needed Jeremiah thinking straight. They had precious little time before Cendrik returned.

  Demetry took a knee beside his mentor, taking no pleasure in their reversal of roles. “I’m sorry, Jeremiah, but Cendrik is likely telling the truth. Calycia forewarned of this possibility in her last letter, did she not?” He placed his arm around Jeremiah’s heaving shoulders. “Plagues don’t distinguish between rich or poor, highborn or low.” The image of his mother’s face blossomed in his mind, her eyes fixed, her pupils dilated, her skin blistered and pockmarked. Demetry shook his head — he had no time for self-pity right now.

  Jeremiah didn’t bother to ask how Demetry overheard the conversation. Perhaps he knew about the rat. Perhaps he didn’t care. Demetry took Jeremiah’s hand in his own, and for a long time they simply sat there in silence.

  “Where did you hide the Orb?” asked Demetry, breaking the cardinal rule upon which their relationship was built. He expected Jeremiah to throw off his hold, to storm away in a fit of rage, to shout at Demetry for his insolence. Instead, Jeremiah simply sighed.

  “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know where it’s located?” said Jeremiah, his voice hardly a whisper. “I had to protect Calycia. Locked away in here I was helpless. Pretending to know the whereabouts of the Orb was the only ruse I had.” He stared at the floor, his eyes brimming with fresh tears.

  It took Demetry a moment to process the information. “If you don’t know the Orb’s location, you have lost all of your bargaining power.” He gasped. “What about Calycia’s daughter? Do you think the king will hurt her?”

  “If what Cendrik said is true, the child is the king’s only heir. He won’t touch her. He can’t, not without the risk of ruining his own legacy. If the king plans to use someone against me, it is most likely going to be you, Demetry. He will make you an offer that will be difficult to refuse — a pardon in exchange for an oath of fealty. He will need a warrior with your unique abilities if he is to have any hope of defeating the dragoons in the coming war.”

  Demetry had never considered that before. His skills might buy him his freedom, but it would come at a dire cost — he would have to betray Jeremiah to a life of solitude in the depths of Coljack.

  “I thought I could protect Calycia with a lie, but I failed,” said Jeremiah, with a sad shake of his head. “Perhaps I can do better with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When Cendrik returns I want you to tell him that you are ready to talk. When in private, inform him that you know where the Orb is located.”

  Demetry raised his eyebrow circumspectly. “And where would this Orb be hidden?”

  “In Luthuania. Tell him the elves have it.”

  Demetry nodded his head, understanding the play at hand. “The best lies are the ones that can not be proven wrong.”

  “Indeed. This little fib might be enough to buy you your freedom.”

  Demetry looked to Jeremiah, sensing the sincerity in the man’s face. Jeremiah was willing to sacrifice himself so that Demetry could be free. But right now, Jeremiah was hurt, and he was making a grave choice while still reeling from the news of his loved one’s death. Demetry could never accept an offer made under such conditions, could he?

  A cold laughter filled his head. “You promised you would not falter or flinch if the opportunity to escape arose.” Joshua’s voice was bitter and mocking. “You’re not turning craven, are you?”

  That was before I had someone other than myself to care about, thought Demetry in reply. That was before someone gave a damn about me. I can’t turn my back on Jeremiah. Family members protect each other.

  “You believe you can escape your sins, Demetry, but you’re wrong. What you did to Shep and me in the woods wasn’t an anomaly. It’s who you are.”

  You were a mistake, thought Demetry. A rash decision made by a rash child, who didn’t comprehend the consequences of his actions. I will not repeat my error.

  Joshua squealed in protest.

  Demetry shook his head, silencing the objecting voice in his head. He rose to his feet, steadfast with resolve. “I will not sacrifice you for my own freedom,” declared Demetry, rejecting Jeremiah’s plan outright. He grabbed Jeremiah by the crook of his arm and helped him to his feet. “If I’m getting out of here, I’m not going alone. Both of us go, or both of us stay.”

  Jeremiah ran his hands along the stone buttresses flanking the door. “I’ve lived in this room for over a decade. Don’t you think I’ve thought this through? It’s not possible.”

  “That might have been true when you were locked in here by yourself. But now there are two of us.” Or three, or four, depending on how you count. Demetry knocked on the iron door. “What if I can get them to open the door for us?”

  “Say you could. We would still hav
e the battering ram and the flood water to contest with.”

  Demetry smirked devilishly. “I already have the battering ram covered.” Sneak scurried across the floor and clambered up Demetry’s back. She squatted obediently on his shoulder. He rewarded her with a scratch behind the ears. “Here’s a interesting tidbit Chaplain Sighelm once told me — did you know a man can lose a quarter of his blood before succumbing to his wounds?” Demetry collected an empty waste pail from the corner of the room. “Tonight, you and I are going to test that theory.”

  CHAPTER

  X

  FIGHT AND FLIGHT

  “THE BOY IS DEAD! TAKE HIM AWAY!” Jeremiah’s voice rumbled from the depths of the earth, reverberating through the halls of Coljack and stirring the guards from their sleep.

  Sneak wrinkled her nose as she watched them come, a dozen men all wearing the yellow robes of the Yanish Brotherhood. They came snaking down the stairwell in a silent column, their faces illuminated by orange torchlight. No one appeared eager to respond to Jeremiah’s call. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairwell, their brows were slick with sweat and their shirts soaked through.

  The first brother to reach the cell door wiped the sweat out of his eyes as he hunched over to peer through the portal. “The gods help me,” sputtered the man, as he recoiled in horror from what he saw.

  “What is it?” The next man stomached the sight little better. He doubled over and began to hyperventilate, his skin turning pale.

  Demetry’s body lay butchered in the center of the prison cell. His blood painted the walls and floor, staining the whole interior red.

  Jeremiah’s maddened voice rang clearly in the corridor. “Bring me another, Cendrik. Are you out there? Can you hear me? Bring me another and we’ll try again. Isn’t that what you want?”

  A curse sounded from the rear of the column of Yanish Brothers. Chaplain Sighelm emerged, shouldering his way to the front of the pack. Cupping his hands about his face, he peered through the portal. Jeremiah was standing in the middle of the chamber. His hair was in disarray. The right sleeve of his robe was ripped at the shoulder. Jeremiah’s desk was toppled over and his papers, which he typically kept so fastidiously organized, were thrown about the room. Burn marks blackened the walls, and Demetry’s mattress was scorched and pockmarked with holes. Sighelm traced the mayhem with his eyes.

  “What happened, Jeremiah?” pressed Sighelm, his voice purposefully tempered and cool.

  Jeremiah jutted his chin toward Demetry’s body, his lips twitching with rage. “Tell Cendrik his little ruse didn’t work. I’m no fool. The boy was a spy. He confessed to everything before I was done with him.” He had his arms crossed behind his back, purposefully keeping his hands hidden from view.

  “Let me see your hands, Jeremiah.”

  “Curse you, Sighelm. Send for the warden.”

  “The warden is sleeping. You have to deal with me instead.”

  “Asleep, or is Cendrik too much of a coward to face me?”

  Sighelm didn’t bother to answer. “Show me your hands.”

  Jeremiah lifted his hands above his head. They were stained red to the wrists. A piece of sharpened stone was clutched in his fist.

  Sighelm frowned. “Put the weapon down and place your arm in the holding lock.”

  “Why don’t you come in here and make me?” The cell darkened, the torches in the corridor guttered and threatened to extinguish. The men looked about themselves in terror. Only Sighelm seemed unfazed.

  “He’s gone mad,” whispered one of the brothers, crossing himself.

  Sighelm shook his head. “No. Cendrik fucked up. We had a good thing going. I told him not to push the matter, to be patient, but he wouldn’t wait.”

  “The Proconsul is going to be pissed,” muttered one of the men.

  “No shit,” said Sighelm. He spit on the ground and turned his attention back to the interior of the cell.

  Jeremiah was pacing back and forth, like a bear trapped in a cage.

  “I’ll give you two options. Drop the weapon and place your hand in the holding lock...”

  “Or?”

  “Or I’ll leave Demetry’s body in there until graveworms are crawling from his eyes and his body splits open with rot. Have you ever smelled a decomposing body?”

  “More than I could count.” Jeremiah sneered like a madman. He momentarily slipped from view, only to reappear with his face flush against the portal. “I curse you for forcing my hand. The boy didn’t deserve this. You used my compassion against me.” He pointed toward Demetry, his finger quivering. “Take him away. A corpse shares no secrets with the living.”

  Jeremiah shoved his arm through the holding lock and waved his hand about until Sighelm locked the iron fetter around his wrist. Sighelm waited until the Sundering Stone set in the fetter was glowing brightly before turning his attention back to his men.

  “Swiftfeld and Wulgan, you’re coming with me to fetch the body. Hother and Ethel, put a blade to Jeremiah’s neck. If he gives you reason to strike, don’t hesitate. The rest of you stay in the corridor. If things go bad, sound the alarm.”

  “But they’ll flood the corridor,” said a big man from the rear of the group. He had a ram’s horn slung over his shoulder.

  “Better that than have Sir Jeremiah on the loose, I promise you,” said Sighelm.

  The big man chuckled. “Jeremiah’s arm is secure in the holding lock. The Sundering Stone has him gelded. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Myer, I know you are accustomed to dealing with prisoners who are as dumb as you are, so let me make this very clear. Sir Jeremiah is smarter than you, he’s deadlier than you, and he’s pissed off. Give him an inch and you’ll be picking your teeth out of the back of your skull. So if I say sound the alarm, place your lips to the end of that horn and blow until you’re blue in the face. Got it?”

  Myer nodded dumbly and held his horn up and at the ready.

  Sighelm thrust his thumb toward the door. “Let’s go.” He unlocked the cell door and the men rushed inside. The difference in temperature between the corridor and the cell was impossible to ignore. The men immediately began to shiver.

  “The gods help me, it’s freezing in here,” murmured one of the brothers, his breath blossoming in a cloud of white vapor.

  “Shut up and get into position,” ordered Sighelm. He led two men to collect Demetry’s blood-drenched body, while the other two men tended to Jeremiah. The elderly magic was stuck in the holding lock, his entire left arm buried in the wall. He posed a threat to no one. Still, the guards weren’t taking any chances. Hother, the younger of the Yanish Brothers, placed a dagger to Jeremiah’s throat.

  “The gods favor those who respect their elders,” said Jeremiah, moving his lower jaw as little as possible to keep the dagger from digging into his flesh. “The things I know could make a man quite rich. Why don’t you step outside and uncuff me. I will not forget your kindness.”

  “Don’t hesitate to kill him if he gives you cause,” reiterated Sighelm, as he wove his way through the gore strewn cell. The floor was sticky with coagulated blood — there was no way to avoid it.

  “Get his legs,” instructed Sighelm. He grabbed Demetry’s wrists and lifted.

  Demetry waited until he felt his body leave the ground. Waited until he heard the men grunting from exertion. Waited until they got him close to the door. His heart raced. Just a few more steps and they would be out in the corridor, then Demetry would give them a show they would never forget.

  “He can’t have been dead for long,” said one of the brothers carrying Demetry’s leg. “His body’s still warm.”

  Demetry cursed in his head. Keep walking. Keep walking.

  “What’s a rat doing way down here?” called one of the brothers standing at the cell door.

  There was a high pitched squeak, followed by a sickening crunch and the sound of a boot heel digging into the ground.

  “A rat?” wondered Sighelm aloud. Demetry felt S
ighelm’s hand readjust, his fingers sliding toward the middle of Demetry’s wrist. Sighelm pressed down hard on the artery, searching for a pulse.

  A quiet gasp passed Sighelm’s lips.

  Demetry couldn’t wait any longer. He thrust open his eyelids, locking eyes with Sighelm. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Demetry hissed.

  Sighelm recoiled in shock and released Demetry’s wrists. Demetry swung earthward like a dropped pendulum. His head cracked hard against the floor. The two Yanish Brothers holding Demetry’s legs were slower to react. They both stared at Demetry with dumbfounded expressions, their mouths hanging wide open. Demetry didn’t give them time to figure out what was happening. He channeled the Sundered Soul and created a void in the air behind either man, and just like that, the Old Magic took hold of their bodies, sending the two men careening in opposite directions through the chamber.

  Sighelm stabbed down with the butt end of his club, intending to crack Demetry’s skull wide open. Demetry rolled aside. The steel shaft slammed against the floor, sending chips of stone flying. Sighelm swung again. With no time to dodge, Demetry used his forearm as a shield. At the last second he envisioned the bones in his arm taking on the strength of iron. The club struck. The flesh in Demetry’s forearm split open from the force of the blow, but the bones withstood the impact.

  “The Old Magic is yours to command,” whispered Joshua, cheering him on. “Kill them all!”

  Demetry lunged forward and seized Sighelm’s ankle.

  “Shut the door!” yelled Sighelm. He pummeled Demetry’s back with his club, but it had no effect — Demetry’s grip was as strong as an iron vice.

  “Do you want the blade or the fire?” asked Demetry, remembering the time Sighelm gave him the same choice. He didn’t wait for a reply. Flames leapt up Sighelm’s leg, boiling over his clothes and licking at his exposed skin. He shrieked in terror. Demetry released Sighelm from his grasp and turned his attention to the two Yanish Brothers holding blades to Jeremiah’s neck.

  The men in the corridor were waving their arms, urging their comrades to flee. One brother abandoned his post and sprinted for the door. The other seemed conflicted, his attention divided between Jeremiah, Demetry, and the human torch that was rolling around on the floor.