“I think, my lords, when you look at the facts, when you consider the consequences, you will see there is no profit in my lying to you. I may be making extraordinary claims, but the most logical conclusion is that they are true.”
She fell silent. Hedron’s already-ruddy complexion was beet-red. She wasn’t sure if he was angry because he knew she’d outplayed him or if he could tell the other Elders were falling for her line.
Regardless, her ploy worked. She could see nods of agreement from everyone else. Vestran regarded her thoughtfully.
“It seems,” he said, “we have a problem. Gothemus’s magic is more powerful than we guessed. We need a solution quickly.”
“Do you have any suggestions, Lord Vicia?” Festria said.
Hedron whipped his head in Festria’s direction, a look of shock plastered to his face. Vicia bit her lip to suppress a chuckle. He was overmatched.
“We only have one lead,” she answered. “Gothemus Draco himself. Fortunately, I insisted we inter the body here. I propose we study it to see if we can learn its secrets. It may be there is some latent magical energy that sustains Gothemus’s spells we can sever. Or perhaps we can use it to summon his spirit back from the netherworld and force it to give us access to the tower.”
“And how are we to do that?” Hedron spat. “None of us is a necromancer, Lord Vicia. We are the Council of Elders. We command the forces of the universe. We do not study or use death magic. It is forbidden!”
“That may be, Lord Hedron,” she soothed. “But we need answers to save Eldenberg. If we cannot get them through conventional means, we may need to hire a necromancer to help us.
“Before it comes to that, though, we have other recourses. I have long studied Gothemus Draco’s magic. If I am given time with his remains, I may be able to divine a solution.”
“Of course,” he said, sarcasm oozing from every pore. “You and you alone can save us, right, Lord Vicia? You say Eldenberg needs rescuing. I’ll remind you it is in danger due to your reckless scheme to murder Gothemus Draco. You promised us the Eye of the Dragon, so Eldenberg could rise as the supreme power in the Known World. Not only have you failed to deliver it, you’ve put our very existence at risk. On the off-chance you’re not lying about Gothemus’s spells outlasting him, you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. That always has tragic consequences.
“How much further are we supposed to trust you, Lord Vicia? How much longer are we supposed to entrust the future of Eldenberg to the faint hope that you might actually know what you’re doing? That you might get lucky and succeed in the nearly impossible quest you’ve set for yourself?
“My lords, we cannot undo the disaster Lord Vicia has wrought, but we do not need to continue to allow her to make it worse. Our original contingency plan was for me to take an army to Gothemus’s tower, break in, and take the Eye by force. I beg you to enact this plan instead. If you will not, at least remove Lord Vicia from this project before she brings us to more harm.”
“If you would like to leave Eldenberg and journey to Gothemus’s tower, Lord Hedron, by all means do so,” Vicia said. She smiled at the thought of him being away from Eldenberg and possibly killed by Gothemus’s wards. “In the interim, I can continue to work on undoing his magic.”
“I’m not going anywhere so long as you are involved in this mission, Lord Vicia,” he said. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“That is enough,” Vestran said. His ancient voice screeched in his anger. “Lord Hedron your accusations of treachery are without merit. To date, Lord Vicia has executed our plan flawlessly with one exception.”
“A rather large exception,” Hedron roared.
“Perhaps,” Vestran conceded. “But it is one neither she nor any of us could have anticipated. Gothemus Draco was considered by many the greatest sorcerer the Known World has ever seen. While I personally dispute that, there is no denying his magical prowess surpassed many.
“Lord Vicia drew Gothemus Draco out of his tower, making him vulnerable. She successfully murdered him. She has advised us on how to keep his death secret until we have the Eye of the Dragon. There is no reason to believe she is lying about an unforeseen obstacle.”
“Maybe not, Lord Vestran,” Hedron countered, “but that doesn’t mean this whole plan of hers hasn’t been reckless. We should not allow her—”
“I said, ‘Enough!’” Vestran shouted with all the power he could manage from his old body. “You yourself said we cannot undo what she has begun. It is therefore foolish to turn aside now and to confuse the issue with unnecessary recriminations. You will desist with these attacks, or I will suspend you from the Council until the matter of acquiring the Eye of the Dragon is resolved.”
Hedron looked shocked. Even Vicia was surprised. She’d thought she would be able to persuade Lord Vestran to back her, but she couldn’t believe he’d actually threatened to suspend Hedron.
“I know you desire my position, Lord Hedron,” Vestran continued, “but, unlike Gothemus Draco, I’m not dead yet, and you don’t have enough friends on the Council to vote me out.
“Lord Vicia, you may proceed with your strategy, but I warn you. I will not risk the future of Eldenberg on your mad schemes. You will deliver the Eye of the Dragon to the Council, or you will deliver your head. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord Vestran,” she said with a nod. “I assure you we will be triumphant. Gothemus Draco is dead. Somehow it is possible to thwart his sorcery. I will discover how, and the Council of Elders will possess the Eye of the Dragon. Then Eldenberg will be the supreme power in the Known World.”
She got a chorus of hear-hears, but they were not terribly strong this time. She had the Council’s faith for the moment, but it was tenuous. She couldn’t afford another setback. Elmanax had better know how to break Gothemus’s wards.
Chapter 5: Leave from Court
Duke Boordin looked like he’d seen a ghost. His skin had turned grey, and there was a look of terror in his eyes. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, and his fat cheeks looked flaccid instead of swollen.
Calibot sighed to himself. It was like this every time someone found out who his father was. In the moment he or she learned, the relationship changed. Suddenly, the other person was afraid of Calibot.
“I’m—” the duke began, but he had to stop to swallow. His throat had gone dry. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Calibot said, succeeding at keeping the bile from his throat.
Here was yet another way his father refused to let him be who he wanted. Calibot had earned his way into the duke’s court. His poetry had amused and delighted. Now the duke’s reactions and those of his courtiers would forever be colored by the knowledge that this poet is the son of the man who had forged the balance of power – the great wizard who kept everyone in check. Calibot would never know if any future laughs were sincere or manufactured out of fear of the legend of Gothemus Draco. It didn’t even matter that he was dead. His reputation was such that it would be years and years before people might start to believe he really couldn’t hurt them. After all, Gothemus Draco had conquered nearly every law of nature. Was it too much to believe he could conquer death as well?
“Your Majesty,” Devon said, “Calibot has been charged with claiming the body and returning it to his father’s tower. We humbly beg you loan us some horses and supplies, so we may travel as swiftly as possible to Eldenberg. I think it would be best if this matter were resolved quickly.”
“Yes, of course,” Boordin said.
Calibot sighed inwardly again. The man who gave orders was taking them now. The mere mention of Gothemus’s name changed him. The duke Calibot knew was not sitting on the throne anymore.
“We’ll need leave from court as well,” Devon continued. “It’ll take approximately a week to travel to Eldenberg, and a little longer to journey to Gothemus’s tower. I expect we’ll need a month to take care of everything.”
“Take as
much time as you need,” Boordin said. “There’s no hurry. I mean, obviously we’ll miss you and look forward to your return, but I don’t want you to feel rushed. You may have all the time you need to settle your father’s affairs.”
“Thank you again, Your Majesty,” Calibot said. He put as much sincerity as he could manage in his voice. “You are most kind.”
“I’ll give the quartermaster your word that we’re to have whatever we need today?” Devon said.
He couldn’t quite keep a smirk off his face. Calibot thought he was twisting the knife unnecessarily.
“Yes,” the duke replied. “You should probably get going right away. I don’t wish to delay you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Devon said.
Calibot bowed to the duke to remind him who was supposed to be in charge. He didn’t want his father putting him on some sort of pedestal he hadn’t earned.
They turned and walked towards the door. Calibot could feel the eyes of every courtier on him. Their gazes burned into him like accusations. He felt like some sort of a traitor. Devon walked with his head up and did his best to keep his smile from getting too broad. He was clearly amused by all this. Calibot couldn’t understand why.
“Calibot,” the duke called as they neared the door. They stopped and turned back. “Your father . . . well, I always had the utmost respect for him. He was a great man, and he did so much for everyone. This castle still stands because of him. I was always grateful.”
Calibot felt sick. He thought his stomach might rot out right there.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he replied, making a concerted effort to keep his tone respectful. “I’m sure he knew and appreciated it.”
Duke Boordin stared at him uncertainly for a moment. There was worry in his eyes. Then he nodded.
Calibot turned back towards the door and went out quickly, with Devon staying close to his shoulder. It was just after nine in the morning, and Calibot already wanted a drink.
He was still stewing about it twenty minutes later as Devon ordered equipment. Liliana had joined them, and she looked over all the provisions with a distant curiosity.
“Don’t you have anything better than this?” Devon said as he examined a breastplate. “We need something that shines.”
The quartermaster grumbled quietly. His bushy blonde eyebrows knitted together tightly, and he hid a scowl behind a thick beard as he took the breastplate back. He clearly thought Devon was overstepping his authority. He came back a minute later carrying a silver-plated one painted with the duke’s crest.
“Will this do?” he said, putting a threatening tone into his words.
“Perfect,” Devon said as though everyone was quite agreeable. “Here, Calibot, try this on.”
Calibot looked at him in surprise. Was he serious?
“Anything else?” the quartermaster said.
“Do you have any elderberry,” Liliana inquired.
Calibot and Devon turned and stared at her in surprise. The quartermaster gave her a withering look.
“No,” he said.
“Wolf’s bane or mandrake?” she offered.
“No,” he said again, looking nonplussed.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” she said. “Oh, well. Just have to make the best of it.”
“He needs a sword,” Devon said.
“I’ve got a sword,” Calibot said. “Remember?”
Devon sighed. He smiled at the quartermaster, who looked irritated.
“Right,” Devon said. “What he really needs is a scabbard, but I assume you don’t have any without swords?”
The quartermaster turned away and trudged back into his storeroom. Devon proffered the breastplate again.
“I’m not wearing that,” Calibot said.
“Just try it on.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Devon said as though it should be obvious, “you are traveling to Eldenberg to recover the body of the most powerful magician in the Known World. Said wizard was murdered, which means whoever did so is very dangerous. You need to look as if you are not to be trifled with and that you have the full backing of the Duke of Dalasport. You need the Council of Elders to take you seriously, Calibot. That means looking like a warrior with friends in high places.”
Calibot looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t considered any of this, and here was Devon taking charge and acting like he knew what he was doing.
“I still don’t understand,” he said.
“Calibot,” Devon said, “this was almost certainly a political murder, an assassination. Whoever did this will assume you have the backing of Zod the Fearless. They clearly think they can take him. But if you make it appear that you not only have the support of Zod’s army, but Duke Boordin’s as well, they’ll have to think carefully about whether to oppose you.”
“Why would anyone oppose me?”
“Your father gave you a sword,” Liliana said. “He surely knew you are no warrior. I can’t say why he would give it to you instead of his brother, who could probably make better use of it. But knowing Gothemus as I did, I am certain he thought you would need it.
“Something is happening, Calibot Draco. Something magical. You should proceed as though it also exceptionally dangerous.”
Calibot stared at her in wonder. His head swam. All of this was happening so fast. He’d never really contemplated the idea of his father’s death, but somehow it seemed impossible. He was too powerful.
Since learning of Gothemus’s murder, Calibot’s emotions had been swirling. Now his father would never approve of him. His father would never appreciate his poetry. He would never tell Calibot he’d always admired him. He was just gone, and there was no way to reconcile.
But Calibot hadn’t considered that Gothemus was playing some sort of game. He had thought about the political ramifications a little, but the idea of his father having a postmortem response to his own murder hadn’t dawned on him. Maybe it should have.
“Calibot, you need to think in broader terms,” Devon said as if to drive the point home. “More is going on here than you simply recovering your father’s body and properly burying it. I don’t know what it is, what’s at stake, or why Gothemus chose you to be a part of it. But I agree with Liliana. You need to be careful, and you need to assume someone is going to try to stop you from doing what your father intended.”
Calibot chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t like any of this. Damn Gothemus anyway. All Calibot wanted was to stay comfortably in Dalasport, entertaining the duke with good poetry and spending his nights wrapped in Devon’s arms. It was all gone now. Even in death, his father could ruin his life. He sighed.
Just then, the quartermaster returned with a sword. He drew it out of the scabbard and then tossed the sheath at Devon, who caught it.
“Here,” the quartermaster said in his gruff, irritated voice. “See if this fits.”
Devon handed it over. Calibot took it grimly. He examined it. The scabbard was black and plated with gold. He set it down and then opened the case with Wyrmblade. He heard the quartermaster suck air through his teeth as he lifted it, gleaming, out of the velvet lining. Apparently, even the stodgy, old quartermaster for Duke Boordin was capable of being impressed by the sight of the elegant weapon.
Calibot picked up the scabbard and slid the blade inside. It fit perfectly.
“Excellent,” Devon said. He turned back to the quartermaster. “We just need three of the duke’s finest horses and tacking for them.”
The bushy-haired man nodded in quiet astonishment, never taking his eyes off Calibot. Calibot sighed and wished he’d never heard of Gothemus Draco, let alone been his son.
Chapter 6: Darkness Coming
Zod the Fearless stood on the parapet extending from his private chambers and stared out over the Wild Lands. The trees almost looked idyllic from up here. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see their twisted limbs, couldn’t notice how their trunks were black and angry-looking. There was no sense of foreboding
looking down on the Wild Lands. From where he stood, he couldn’t see the giant spiders or the basilisks or the dragons or any of the other monstrosities that lurked within. From up here, he could see only the green of the leaves.
Something was wrong.
It had been a month since he’d heard from Gothemus. His brother never went that long between communiqués. The last message indicated he was going to Eldenberg, that the Council of Elders had a proposal it wished to discuss with him in detail.
Zod hadn’t liked it. Gothemus never left his tower anymore. Why would he go now? The Elders were all sorcerers. They could easily communicate by magical means. Why would they want to meet in person except to lure Gothemus out of his protective sanctuary?
Zod had insisted Gothemus wait for him. He begged him to let him come along for protection. His arrogant brother naturally refused. What could possibly happen, he’d asked. And how could Zod argue? His brother was the most powerful magician in the Known World. How could they possibly harm him?
Something was wrong, though. Zod knew it in his bones. Gothemus wouldn’t be in communicado for this long.
Worse, the Wild Lands had changed. They were always a frightening, forbidding place – a realm one didn’t enter without a lot of protection and possibly a little stupidity. But Gothemus used the Eye of the Dragon to control them. That had been the whole point of stealing it from that gnome all those years ago. The Eye had power over the Wild Lands. The strange, primeval forest seemed to have a sinister intelligence of its own, and Gothemus was able to soothe it, make it less aggressive with the Eye.
For the last several weeks, though, the Wild Lands seemed . . . darker somehow. The leaves were a blacker shade of green than Zod was accustomed to seeing. And there were the screams. Periodically, Zod heard wails coming from within the trees – as though something malicious and monstrous was at last free, as though it was roaring in relief and anger, promising to deliver a reckoning for its imprisonment.
The Sword and the Sorcerer Page 4