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

by Lee H. Haywood

  “You should have let me loose when you had the chance,” said Jeremiah to the Yanish Brother. “A pity.”

  The man opened his mouth, perhaps to say a word, but only a scream came out. He went shooting across the room, dragged forward by the midsection as if someone had lassoed a rope around his waist. His arm passed through the threshold just as the men in the hallway were pulling the cell door shut. There was a sickening crack as the iron door slammed on the man’s wrist. Demetry had intended to block the passage with the man’s body, but an arm served just as well. The door swung back open with a reverberating twang. The men in the hall kept trying to close the door, slamming it over and over again on the poor man’s arm. Their panic-stricken minds were oblivious to what was keeping the door ajar.

  Sighelm crawled toward the door, the lower half of his body in flames. Black smoke pooled on the ceiling, filling the room with the stench of charred flesh. “Sound the alarm, open the floodgate!” he croaked. His last words. He curled fetal and didn’t move again. The nobility of Sighelm’s final act wasn’t lost on Demetry.

  “A worthwhile foe.”

  Demetry nodded his head in agreement.

  The men in the corridor gave up trying to shut the door and ran. The Yanish Brother with the broken arm wallowed in the threshold, grabbing his shattered wrist. Myer, the man tasked with sounding the alarm, seemed incapable of moving. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he slowly lifted the ram’s horn to his lips and blew. A shrill blast echoed up the spiral stairwell, sounding his own doom. That seemed to break the spell that kept him frozen in place. He fled up the stairwell, bowling over anyone who got in his way. The other men followed, a frantic stampede to reach the landing before the battering ram fell and the water came rushing down.

  Unhurried, Demetry stepped out into the corridor. He felt especially pleased with how events had unfolded. Jeremiah and Demetry had spent the previous day taking turns bleeding into the bucket. By the time they were finished painting the walls and floors red, they were both lightheaded from blood loss. It was Jeremiah’s idea to blast the room with incendiary spells — it made the story Jeremiah told the guards all the more believable.

  He found Sneak’s body in the corridor. She crawled toward Demetry, her back legs dragging uselessly in her wake. “Farewell, my friend,” said Demetry, giving Sneak’s ears one final scratch. “Its time for you to return to your eternal slumber.” He released Sneak’s body from his spell, and she immediately went limp. She was an unfortunate casualty, but the rat had been expendable from the start. He would not shed tears over a creature that had died long ago. Even so, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

  Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he quickly unlocked the iron fetter from around Jeremiah’s wrist, being especially careful not to touch the Sundering Stone, and then hurried back into the cell. He found Jeremiah leaning wearily against the wall.

  “I never get used to it,” said Jeremiah, rubbing at his wrist. There were burn marks where the Sundering Stone had made contact with his bare flesh. “I’ve been able to channel the Sundered Soul for as long as I can remember. When that power is stripped away, it’s like I’m missing a part of myself.”

  Demetry knew the feeling all too well. He wrapped his arm around Jeremiah’s back and guided him toward the cell door. “We need to keep moving,” said Demetry. “It will only be a matter of time until Cendrik learns of our escape.” He collected a discarded torch and held it aloft to illuminate the path.

  Jeremiah climbed the stairs in silence, his face curled in contemplation. Demetry could scarcely imagine the thoughts going through the old man’s head. After well over a decade in captivity, freedom was just beyond the bend. Of course, they weren’t free, not yet. Demetry half-expected a flood of water to come pouring down the stairwell at any moment. They needed to hurry — the guards wouldn’t delay forever.

  Up, up, up they went, past collapsed mine shafts and dark tunnels that led nowhere. The stairwell seemed to go on forever. The ascent was taking far longer than planned. A cold sweat embraced Demetry’s body. He never realized how deep in the earth they actually were. He may have miscalculated.

  “Have faith in the plan,” chided Joshua.

  “Damn this place,” said Demetry, trying to distract himself from his fraying nerves. He began to list off every person who had ever done him wrong, finding determination in his hatred. “Damn Cendrik. Damn the king. Damn Shep, and Hanberg, and Headmaster Rioley. Damn the school elders, and the magistrate who sent me to Taper in the first place.”

  “Don’t forget to damn yourself,” said Jeremiah, breathing hard. “It was your own failings that got you imprisoned here. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I won’t,” said Demetry.

  “We won’t,” said the voice in his head.

  The truth was, Demetry was terrified. He was terrified of what might await them at the top of the stairwell, or outside the prison fortress, or beyond in the world at large. Powerful forces had conspired to put him in prison. Even if he escaped, he would spend the rest of his life as a hunted man. His only advantage would be his magic.

  “Yes, but will it be enough?”

  Demetry wasn’t certain. Jeremiah had taught him more in the past year than he would have learned in a lifetime of study at Taper. But such knowledge didn’t make him invincible. A trained battlemage from the Academy Arcanum would likely be more than Demetry could handle. Even a bowman with a lucky shot could end his life. Still, Jeremiah had given him a fighting chance and Demetry couldn’t be more grateful.

  “Jeremiah, what you’ve done — taking me under your wing and all. Well, I...” His voice cracked and he found himself blinking back tears. Demetry had never been very good at putting his feelings into words, and now was no different. How could Demetry explain to Jeremiah that he was more than a mentor or a friend? Jeremiah had become the closest thing to a father Demetry had ever known. “I’m grateful for everything.”

  “Hold you sniffling for now,” said Jeremiah, his voice having regained its typical authoritative tone. “Your trial is not yet through.”

  There was a commotion around the next bend. Demetry silently thanked the gods. They had arrived to the landing. But now came his true test. The guards had ample time to prepare. Demetry envisioned fire in his mind’s eye and leapt onto the landing expecting a fight.

  Instead of being confronted by a host of armed guards, they were greeted by a pair of terrified Yanish Brothers. The two men were frantically trying to dislodge the lynch pin that held the battering ram in place. They yelped in terror when Demetry and Jeremiah emerged from around the corner and abandoned their post. Demetry motioned to stop them, but Jeremiah held him back.

  “Let them go.”

  Demetry grunted with frustration, but followed his elder’s command. He walked over to the battering ram’s lynch pin, eager to examine Sneak’s handiwork.

  The lynch pin and the two eyelets through which it passed were corroded together, forming a single ugly hunk of rusted iron. Clyde’s antics with the door hinge had given Demetry the idea. Sneak had done the deed. The rat had been paying the battering ram a daily visit for nearly a year. Rat piss could do wonders when it came to corroding iron. Demetry couldn’t have been more pleased with the result.

  He cupped his hands around the lynch pin and channeled the Sundered Soul. The metal instantaneously turned white hot as he excited the individual particles within the beam. It turned to fluid in his hands, spilling between his fingers in glowing tendrils. There was a twang, and the heavy chain holding the battering ram in place broke free. The iron-tipped ram, which had hung motionless for over a decade, finally fulfilled its purpose. It slammed into the far wall with a deafening boom. Black cracks cobwebbed across the surface. Jets of water sprayed from the fissures, growing larger with every passing moment. Demetry and Jeremiah stepped aside, and the wall came tumbling down. Water rushed through the gap, a boiling tempest. Down, down, down it went, galloping along the steps in a frothing curre
nt no man could contest. If anyone remained below, they were doomed.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Jeremiah, watching the water rush by. He leaned against the wall, exhausted from the ascent, pale from blood loss, and weak from the Sundering Stone.

  “I’m not going back into the cell, not ever,” said Demetry, spitting into the current. “If Cendrik captures me, he’s going to have to kill me.”

  Coljack was a maze, but after more than a year of witnessing the world through Sneak’s eyes, Demetry knew the passages by heart. He quickly guided them toward the front gate, walking through ominously empty halls. Every guard post they passed was abandoned. The barracks they walked through were empty. Every bed was in disarray. Prisoners banged on their cell doors as Demetry and Jeremiah entered the final corridor, yelling praises and condemnations, encouragement and curses.

  “We should free these men from their cells,” said Demetry, envisioning the chaos that would ensue.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “Most of these men deserve to be here.”

  “Did I? Did you?”

  Jeremiah didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. Demetry already knew the answer. Yes.

  They stepped outside.

  The walls of Coljack were black shadows against the backdrop of the night sky. The courtyard was barren. The battlements and surrounding towers were not. Every guard in the Coljack garrison was present, men with drawn bows, pointed spears, and terrified faces. More guards were gathered atop the east and west towers. Only one figure seemed calm amongst the rest. Warden Cendrik strode to the front of the battlement, leaning wearily upon his cane. His lips curled in that half-smirk expression he so often wore.

  “Impressive, gentlemen,” said Cendrik. He gave them a mocking clap. “You thwarted all of my fail-safes. But now you face the true test.” He pointed his cane toward Jeremiah. “It would seem the master is at a disadvantage. The Sundering Stone drank all of his strength.”

  Jeremiah didn’t refute the claim, and even if he did, everyone would have seen it was a lie. Jeremiah’s eyes were sagging and bloodshot, his breathing labored. He had to lean against Demetry for support. Demetry cursed under his breath. This was one part of the plan Demetry hadn’t thought through. They should have lingered awhile longer in Coljack — that would have granted Jeremiah more time to recover.

  Cendrik nodded toward Demetry. “That leaves the young apprentice to pick up the slack. Are you up to the task, Demetry? I once saw Jeremiah deflect the shots of a dozen bowmen with his powers. Let’s see how you compare.”

  He tapped the tip of his cane into the ground. That was the signal the archers were waiting for. They let loose all at once. In the blink of an eye, there were more projectiles in the air than Demetry could count, let alone manipulate with his magic. Demetry’s first impulse was to duck, but knew such cowardly instincts would only get him killed. Magic was their only hope.

  Demetry turned his focus to the cloudless night sky. A downdraft of air came collapsing out of the heavens, striking the arrows mid-flight. The sudden gust redirected most of the shafts into the ground, but a few managed to stay on mark. They slammed into the wall, missing Jeremiah and Demetry by only inches.

  “Again!” ordered Cendrik, his lips still upturned in a grin.

  Demetry was more prepared for the second attack. This time a crosswind sent every arrow sailing wide of its mark. He didn’t let the archers fire a third time.

  Demetry turned his attention to the wooden gate that barred their path. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned the millions of water particles that resided within the planks of wood. Individually, each particle was minuscule and irrelevant. Collectively, they were packed with potential energy. He clapped his hands, turning the water particles to ice. He clapped again, and the ice turned to gas. The resulting blast was catastrophic. Instead of just destroying the wooden gate, the entire gatehouse was torn apart, sending rocks and mortar flying through the air.

  Half the men atop the battlements were knocked off their feet. More still were dazed by the concussion of the blast. No one was more surprised than Demetry. This time it was Jeremiah who sprung into action first.

  “Keep your head low!” ordered Jeremiah, as he pulled Demetry along by the collar. They ducked and ran as bricks tumbled from the sky. The gatehouse had been reduced to a pile of debris no taller than a man in height. They clambered over the ruins. The guards atop the battlements were just starting to regain their composure when Demetry and Jeremiah reached the far side of the debris field. More arrows flew, but this time their aim was haphazard, parting shots fired by men who knew they were bested. Demetry glanced over his shoulder one last time in hopes of spotting Warden Cendrik. The warden was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hopefully the bastard took a brick to the face,” whispered Joshua.

  Demetry smiled at the thought.

  They sprinted into the farmland that lay beyond the walls of the fortress prison. Ripe crops were arranged in neat rows — golden brown grains, grapes swollen on the vine. The scents of summer were heavy on the air. Crickets chirped, night birds and bats whirled overhead hunting for insects. Demetry couldn’t imagine a more perfect scene to welcome him back into the world. He had never known such joy. He leapt from furrow to furrow, hollering triumphantly at the night sky. Jeremiah trailed behind him, no more hurried than ever. The torchlights atop the battlements grew further and further away, eventually becoming faint specks on the horizon.

  “Can you believe what I did back there?” Demetry wasn’t being boastful. He was genuinely shocked by his own power. Out of necessity, his full strength had always been held back within the confines of the prison cell. Now that he had seen the magnitude of his true power he was flabbergasted.

  “We can stop now, Demetry,” called Jeremiah. He was slowly making his way over the final hump of farmland. “They won’t be coming after us anytime soon. Look.”

  In the distance, Coljack burned. The amber glow of fire perfectly outlined the jagged teeth of the battlements. The wind carried with it the faint ring of alarm bells and the frantic cries of men.

  Fate works in mysterious ways, thought Demetry.

  Perhaps a lantern had been knocked over in the confusion, or maybe a torch had been flung from the battlements and into a pile of hay. Or perhaps Cendrik had started the blaze to hide the folly of his own error. Either way, the fortress prison was burning. Demetry could only take so much delight from the sight — most of the structure was mortar and stone, and everything else could be rebuilt. He thought of the men trapped inside only as an afterthought.

  “I... I need to rest,” said Jeremiah. He was struggling to catch his breath. “I’m too old to be running aimlessly in the night.” Jeremiah’s face was oddly sedate for someone who had just escaped prison. He ran his hand slowly over the stalks of grain, letting them tickle the tips of his fingers. He smiled faintly, then stumbled to his knees as his legs gave out beneath him.

  Demetry gasped and ran to his mentor’s side, arriving just in time to catch his fall. Demetry’s hand struck something jagged and damp as he secured Jeremiah’s frame in his arms. His stomach knotted. He gingerly ran his fingers over the finely sharpened metallic head and the wooden shaft. His blood ran cold. An arrow protruded from Jeremiah’s back through his right shoulder.

  “You’ve been struck,” managed Demetry. He nearly choked on the words. “My magic should have protected you.”

  “Yet it did not,” said Jeremiah. He smiled foolishly. “You’ve done well, Demetry. I can ask nothing more.”

  Demetry cradled Jeremiah’s frail body while he searched for a healing spell that might suffice. He came up with nothing. He would have to use the Old Magic. He ripped open Jeremiah’s shirt and examined the wound. Based on the point of entry the arrow had pierced Jeremiah’s right lung. Demetry tried to envision the organs in his mind. Spongy and fibrous. Replete with arteries. Rich with blood.

  Jeremiah steadied Demetry’s trembling hand. “Wait a moment and look at the stars wit
h me,” said Jeremiah. He was struggling to keep his voice calm.

  “There’s no time,” said Demetry, feeling panic take hold. Healers practiced for years, honing their skills on animals, studying the anatomy of cadavers, learning the functions of the organs and the layout of bones and muscles. Demetry would have to rely on instinct alone.

  “There’s always time for a moment,” said Jeremiah, coughing between words. Flecks of blood landed in his beard. His breath turned into a pitiful wheeze. Jeremiah was dying before Demetry’s eyes and there was nothing he could do.

  “See how they shine,” said Jeremiah, his voice now a whisper. He turned Demetry’s chin, forcing him to stare skyward. “Isn’t it outstanding?”

  It truly was. The stars were brighter than Demetry ever remembered. Every constellation was on proud display. The evening star glittered in the west, while the great serpent streaked from horizon to horizon. The beauty caused Demetry’s breath to catch in his throat. “You’re right, it truly is outstanding.”

  There was no response.

  Demetry remained at Jeremiah’s side, his heart broken with grief. The pain was paralyzing, and for a long time he could do nothing, save stare into the face of the man he had loved like a father. Jeremiah’s flesh gradually became pale, and then cold. Eventually, all semblance of life slipped away.

  “You betrayed me.” Demetry sniffed and wiped away the onset of a tear. “You’re selfish. You know that, right? The whole world is out to get me and you’ve left me alone. I can’t do this by myself.”

  As he talked, the field was embraced by a wicked chill. His anger got the better of him, and he subconsciously summoned the Sundered Soul. Demetry didn’t care, he let his rage take his mind were it would. The waving stalks of grain that surrounded him began to freeze solid and snap in half like icicles. His breath issued from his mouth in clouds of vapor. The earth became rock hard. His clothing became stiff and shrouded with frost. Demetry would have been satisfied to sit there until he froze to death, but the voices in his head were not so eager to surrender.