Andrigar understood exactly why she was asking this of him. Somehow, the Queen had rationalized the existence and function of his gift. He had seen the effect Scythe had on everyone, just as he knew his gift shielded him to the sorceress’ manipulations. He could kick himself for not making a stronger effort to disguise his immunity, but it was too late for that now.
If he denied the ability, the Queen would very well have him killed just to protect herself. He had never contemplated taking action against the sorceress, precisely because none of her manipulations affected him. He had to agree with why the Queen had drawn Marek out of the room. His own best friend would kill him to defend her if Scythe commanded it.
Andrigar rose and bowed to Queen Ivrane. “I will do as you bid, My Queen.”
Ivrane turned away, wrestling with her emotions. Part of her wanted to scream in horror, but the mad part, the part that freed her, wanted to shout in victory. When Scythe entered any moment now, she would have to embrace her insanity as strongly as she could, or the weakness in her would squeal to the sorceress like a mewling kitten, warning the young woman she was coerced to love above all else, of the very horror she plotted against her. Worse yet, it cried even now to have Andrigar clapped in irons, preventing him from performing this duty she put before him.
She opened the door of her bedchamber and summoned Marek back to his seat. He returned and sat quietly without uttering a word. Andrigar never so much as glanced at the man. She smiled to them both and raked her fingers through her tangled hair.
Moments later a guardsman opened the door to the sitting room to announce Scythe. She admitted her with a growl at the guardsman’s vacant grin, holding tight to her rage—a shield against the quailing woman inside her.
The small, gray robed and hooded figure of the sorceress entered, and both men stood to greet her. Andrigar bowed and behind him, Ivrane heard a slight gasp from Marek as Scythe turned her attention, ever so briefly, toward him.
“Yes, new adoring sycophants for you, Scythe,” the Queen said with a quick sneer. “They have an important report for us regarding a threat to Blackdrake.”
“Jalton has fallen!” Marek blurted out. Andrigar had to hold himself from flinching at the sure evidence that his friend was now Scythe’s creature. Everything about him would be the old Marek, except where the sorceress would forever more be concerned. He had seen it happen many times before, and he cursed himself for the foolishness of bringing Marek before the Queen. His determination to carry out Ivrane’s command was now paramount, just for the sake of removing that cloying influence from Marek.
His friend spoke as he did, in his most sincere effort to please the sorceress. The remainder of his report immediately spewed forth because of her all-encompassing coercion. It was as though Marek was frantic for the small woman’s safety.
“A giant man, easily three man-heights tall, strode through Jalton and slew everyone he touched, their bodies turned to dust and their bones fell at his feet,” Marek hastened to warn her. “He is heading toward Blackdrake. I rode throughout the night to bring this warning, my—Your Grace.”
Andrigar heard the slight hesitation before Marek corrected himself. He had been about to say “My Lady”, addressing his warning to Scythe, but he was wise enough to turn toward the Queen at the last.
“Could this have been an ogre or a troll? Why do you say it was a giant man?” Ivrane asked, though she did spare a scathing look toward Scythe, she had heard Marek’s hesitation as well. There was no help for it.
“He is handsome, finely muscled and perfectly proportioned, no ogre or troll could disguise their inhumanity so well. The giant is like nothing I have ever seen anywhere throughout the extent of Ousenar.”
Scythe spoke for the first time, her voice quiet, but clear within her deep cowl, “Did Jalton try to withstand this giant?”
“Yes, my Lady, they did—to no avail. Their weapons seemed to do nothing to him, they even doused him in oil and set it alight, but he merely walked through the flames until it burned out.”
“How do you propose to face this threat, Andrigar?” the Queen asked her Captain.
“I have called up two hundred men to assemble, they shall slay this giant. They will be ready to depart when we are finished here.”
Andrigar could see her struggle to keep her face blank of emotion before she spoke, “But their weapon’s will perform no better than those of Jalton, you are going to need something more to dispatch this giant. Scythe, you must accompany them, only your magic can bind this giant man to your will.”
Scythe shrunk back at the Queen’s words, emitting a slight gasp from the depths of her hood.
“Before you protest and beg me to preserve you for more important tasks here within the castle,” the Queen fairly purred to her, “know that none can withstand your charms. You have nothing to fear from this giant, he will become your lapdog just as easily as every one of us has. If you do not go, this creature will slay many fine men who love and worship you. You owe them—you owe us—a swift and easy resolution to this threat. So be a good little sorceress and fetch this giant to your Queen as the newest acquisition to Our forces.”
At the bob of Scythe’s hood and the slight drop of her shoulders, the Queen turned back to him. “Captain, you and your man, Marek, are to head this detail personally. See that no harm, whatsoever, befalls our precious sorceress.”
“Yes, My Queen,” he said with a fist to his chest, betraying none of the flicker of wicked delight he saw upon the Queen’s face.
“Scythe, do you have your scrying glass with you? Perhaps you can give us a look at this giant man,” Ivrane asked the small, cloaked woman. “I am curious to see my future giant.”
The sorceress’ hood bobbed again, and she produced a flat crystal glass, a mirror the size of her palm. It hung from her neck on a long, golden chain. Surprising Andrigar and Marek, she pulled back her hood to remove the chain, revealing the delicate features of a striking young woman. Large green eyes that were almost luminous in their clarity, and ash blonde hair that flowed thick and long beneath the robe that hid her body. Andrigar knew a moment of uncertainty at seeing this lovely woman, but the look of adoration upon Marek’s face, resolved him again to the task his queen had set before him.
Holding the gold frame of the mirror with both fine boned hands, Scythe spoke in a tongue Andrigar could not comprehend.
When the words ceased to come from her full lips, the clear crystal mirror clouded over with hazy whiteness.
“Where would this giant be now between here and Jalton?” Scythe asked of Marek.
The scout answered promptly, “I would estimate that he is somewhere between three and four leagues distant at the rate he moves, my Lady.”
Scythe turned to face north, where Jalton lay in relation to Blackdrake, and narrowed her huge green eyes on the awakened crystal lens. A scene appeared in the lens, and Andrigar leaned over the woman to view it closely. It showed a broad stretch of Zuxran pastureland, and a large heard of cattle grazing the dewy grass in the low morning sun.
With practiced movements of her fingers upon the golden rim of the lens, Scythe guided the view, moving it out to see a broader expanse and playing it around for a league in all directions.
“He should be near—I remember passing that herd during the night. If he followed my course, he would go right through the midst of them,” Marek said, oozing with eagerness to help, then paused as something within the lens drew his attention. “Wait. Something is happening at the northern edge of the herd, the cattle are scattering.”
The view closed in on the indicated area at another subtle gesture of Scythe’s fingertips, and everyone saw the cattle moving away from the region, but of the giant man, there was no sign.
Andrigar watched the cattle. They scattered and kicked, like a swarm of hornets was chasing them, but only the cattle and their long, morning shadows moved. Something was odd with that movement, and then he saw it. He drew everyone’s attention wit
h a darting finger.
“There, look there!” Andrigar’s fingertip almost touched the mystical lens. “There is a shadow moving across the field.”
A shadow, without any cattle to cast it, appeared on the grass and scrub of the pasture, enormously long in the low morning sun. It was the shadow of a walking man, they could see the legs moving and the arms swinging, but nothing of what was casting it.
As they watched, the feet of the shadow paused where they intercepted an idle bull that had not dispersed with his fellows. He staggered and fell to his knees as his forelegs buckled, a moment later the bull shriveled up and died, falling to dust. Only wet and sticky bones remained, rolling on the ground, some of them crushing deep into the grass as the shadow of a foot landed where the bull had stood.
“How can it not be seen?” Scythe whispered in amazement. “The spell should reveal everything through the lens.”
“He must be a wizard,” Andrigar said, and gave Marek a slight nudge, interrupting him from saying whatever revealing words were about to spill from his lips. “His shadow reveals him, and he is still coming our way. My Queen, we must hasten to depart if we wish to intercept him, and I must have a horse prepared for Lady Scythe.”
“Yes, by all means. Leave at once to catch me this fine slayer of cattle, giant, wizard, or whatever he may be,” the Queen declared, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.
Here ends The Final Warden. The story continues in the second book of the Gifts of Vorallon trilogy—City of Thunder.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my wife, Cathy, who endured my reading this to her over and over. Thank you to my son, Roger, who gave me the first honest feedback. Thank you to Charla for her time, effort, and boundless encouragement. And thank you to Rick Fernandez for his help with an amazing title design.
Finally I want to thank, you, the reader. I appreciate your time and your interest in reading this story. I sincerely hope you found enjoyment and will continue forward with Lorace and his companions as their story extends into City of Thunder and concludes in Lord of Vengeance.
In writing this book I have taken on the responsibility of author, editor, proofreader, cover artist, illustrator, layout artist, and publisher. I apologize for any typos, mistakes, and glitches—they are assuredly mine. If you spot any such errors, or simply want to share your thoughts on the story, please contact me through one of several methods: Thomas Cardin on Facebook, Thomas Cardin on Goodreads, or through my blog at thomascardin.blogspot.com. I look forward to hearing from you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thomas Cardin is a digital artist and animator living in Southern California with his wife, Cathy, and his son, Roger. He also shares his home with two larger-than-life Maine Coon cats and a long-haired mixed-breed cat. Besides computer graphics, he has been known to paint the odd rock and dabble in ceramics. His inspirations for storytelling have always been present, in art, books, movies, and role playing games. He has built many worlds and breathed life into many characters around the gaming table, but writing a novel was always something to start working on tomorrow or next week.
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