Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  Up in the air Crystal’s body was convulsing, enough it seemed to push her into unconsciousness. The power the demons were taking from her through the amulet was too much for her young body to bear and she fell into a deep sleep.

  Bridgemear and Amella looked on aghast; Forusian was killing their daughter right before their very eyes and there was nothing they could do to save her. Then something snapped inside Bridgemear’s head. His gaze never wavered when he ran full force from his hiding place, leaping over one of the caskets and landing right behind Forusian. He raised his arm and stabbed the king straight between his shoulder blades with his sword. He heard the sickening sound of bone crunching against the blade as the sword severed his spinal cord. He took a step back, believing this act alone would be enough to stop the evil sorcerer.

  There followed a shriek of fury as Forusian turned to face his attacker.

  ‘Damn you, Bridgemear!’ Forusian cursed, whilst his fingers searched for the source of pain.

  The look of triumph quickly faded on Bridgemear’s face when Forusian twisted the blade until it was free from his body, and with the weapon firmly in his grasp he was quick to turn upon the wizard.

  ‘You can’t kill me with one swish of a blade,’ he barked, goading Bridgemear with his own sword. ‘I cannot die so easily and you cannot save your daughter by trying. You are all doomed. As I speak my army is getting ready to fight. You and your kind are going to know what it’s like to be ruled by the most powerful being in the whole universe.’

  Bridgemear roared with fury and went for him, punching Forusian just above the jaw. The sound of his cheekbone disintegrating against his fist filled him with much-needed adrenalin and he grinned with pure delight when he saw the look of agony sweep over the king’s face.

  ‘Ha-ha,’ he crowed, ‘you may not die so quickly but you still feel the pain of your wounds just like the rest of us.’

  Forusian’s eyes blazed; he had no time for this, he had serious work to do. He took a step forward, the cheek along with his spine already starting to heal. He waved the sword in the air and took a strike, but Bridgemear was far too quick and bolted out of the way.

  Abbadon was furious with the unexpected interruption and barked orders for the demon creatures to continue with the ritual whilst Forusian dealt with the wizard. But Amadeus had waited long enough and rushed into view, throwing his body into the centre of the ring of demons, flaying his sword as he cut the apparitions with his blade.

  ‘It’s no use,’ he shouted to Amella, when his sword did nothing to disperse the phantoms, ‘I cannot kill what is not alive.’

  ‘We need to stop the power of the amulet,’ screamed Amella in answer. She felt herself teetering at the very edge of hysteria again and she tried hard to pull back from its darkening grip. She ran towards the pit, but she caught Death’s attention and with a whoosh he was there at her side.

  ‘She will never be yours,’ he sneered, dropping down and scooping her up by the throat.

  Amella felt herself rising from the floor and she grappled with the long, bony fingers which threatened to choke the life out of her, but he was too strong and she felt her eyelids turn heavy and then everything went black.

  Bridgemear caught sight of what was happening to Amella out of the corner of his eye and he spun around to see Abbadon let go of her and let her fall. Forusian seized his moment and brought the sword down hard, slicing the flesh of Bridgemear’s arm. The magician gasped from the bone-deep gash, the bright red bloodstain visible against his clothing. He jumped back and Forusian followed him, wielding the weapon to and fro above his head like a madman.

  ‘It’s time to die!’ the evil king cried, brandishing his sword in the air, but Bridgemear was far more skilled and manoeuvred him nearer to the pit. He saw the abominations of evil standing in silent rows, lifeless and unmoving; the incantation was not yet finished and the breath of life that they needed to exist had not yet been injected into their slippery bodies.

  ‘We must stop the ritual!’ he cried out, watching Amadeus still slicing at the demons.

  ‘But how?’ shouted Amadeus, turning to face him in desperation.

  ‘It’s the necklace!’ Bridgemear shouted. ‘We must somehow stop the amulet!’

  Amadeus looked at Crystal’s sizzling body and realised what he had to do. As light as the wind, he left the circle of demons and ran towards the chasm. For a moment it seemed everyone stopped to stare as he rushed past, dropping his sword within easy reach of Bridgemear. Death barked a warning when he realised what he was about to do, but Amadeus was already one step ahead of him. With his eyes focused on Crystal, he leapt from the centre of the pinnacle, his arms flaying widely as he jumped into the air; his aim was nothing more than perfect. He landed with a ‘thud’ on Crystal’s body and he immediately grasped at her shoulders to stop himself from falling into the pit. Then, with one arm wrapped around her waist he used his other hand to cover the powerful stone. The heat from it seared through his skin and he cried out with the pain, but he refused to let go until it died away. Frantically, he searched at the back of her neck for the clasp and when he found it, he unfastened the amulet from her throat. Death was furious when he saw what was happening and flew to attack, but he knew he was already too late. The second the stone died, the spirits spun into dust.

  ‘You cannot harm me now, evil one,’ Amadeus said with a smirk, ‘you have failed. Be gone, and take your evil doings with you.’

  For the first time in a century Abbadon didn’t know what to do; without the necklace and the girl’s immense life force they could not continue to bring the soldiers to life. He looked over at Forusian and cried for him to do something, but Forusian was still preoccupied.

  Bridgemear’s pale skin glistened with sweat when he bent down to retrieve Amadeus’s sword. Forusian’s eyes were gleaming with fury having realised his dream was in serious peril and he lunged for the magician with madness dancing in his eyes.

  Bridgemear swung his sword and the noise of clashing metal filled the air. They both turned full circle but Bridgemear was the better swordsman and before he knew what was happening he had Forusian pinned up against the wall.

  ‘It’s over,’ Bridgemear said, pointing his sword at Forusian’s heart. ‘Surrender now before more blood is shed.’

  ‘I still have your daughter,’ Forusian hissed. ‘She is not out of the woods yet.’

  ‘You can do her no more harm,’ said Bridgemear, shaking his head. ‘Your days of being king are well and truly over.’

  As he spoke, the torches suddenly seemed to burn a little too bright and a strong gust of wind blew at the flames, causing them to flare, momentarily distracting the wizard. It was all it took for Forusian to slice his own sword deep across Bridgemear’s belly. The magician looked shocked and then fell to his knees, unable to believe Forusian had been able to wound him so. Not used to feeling such pain, his sword slipped from his grasp and Forusian kicked it away with the heel of his boot whilst Bridgemear tried to stem the flow of blood. He soon realised his inner strength was not enough to save him and he tried to pull at the wound with his bare hands.

  ‘Wish you hadn’t done that,’ Bridgemear said, swallowing hard and cursing the lack of magic in his fingertips.

  Forusian smiled down at him.

  ‘I warned you not to interfere, but you would insist upon it,’ he said, swinging the sword above his head. The metal glistened as it wavered in the air and Bridgemear closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow. He realised he was a failure and at that moment the dismay he felt abolished all fear. The blade sliced the air and he braced himself, but the swish of the blade never reached him. A piercing howl bellowed from Forusian’s mouth instead and like a dragon caught by the dragon slayer his eyes opened as wide as saucers and his sword slipped from his fingers, landing with a sharp clatter upon the stone floor.

  Bridgemear stared dumbstruck when Forusian fell to the ground, twitching and writhing before him. He couldn’t comprehend what
was happening and Forusian reached out towards him as though he thought he could save him. Recoiling, Bridgemear watched in shocked surprise when tendrils of smoke smouldered all over Forusian’s body, before igniting and turning him into a human torch. Orange and gold flames licked viciously at his flesh and the repugnant smell of cooked tissue caused Bridgemear to almost throw up when it filled his nostrils.

  ‘No! This can’t be happening!’ screamed Forusian, when his flesh melted away to reveal bone. ‘My handsome face, my beautiful skin, it’s not my time to die!’ The flames consumed him in his entirety and within minutes he was unrecognisable.

  ‘Help me,’ he gurgled, when his blackened lips crumbled and turned into dust, ‘for you have not seen the last of …’

  He fell upon the floor, like a tree felled in the forest, his eyes lifeless. His limbs disintegrated when they made contact with the floor and he fell apart in large chunks; his fingers, already stiff, curled inwards, looking like broken stumps. He lay dead, there at Bridgemear’s feet, and what was left of his remains hardened into a charcoal effigy. Bridgemear stared wide-eyed at the cremated torso of King Forusian, unable to digest what had just happened, his own pain momentarily forgotten.

  In a flash Abbadon was by his side, salvaging what he could. He hadn’t expected things to turn out quite this way and wasted no time in devouring the fine, green mist which appeared above the dead king. Bridgemear felt another wave of nausea hit what was left of his stomach.

  ‘Be off with you, you sick creature of darkness!’ he gasped, furious that Death should take such advantage. ‘Go back to the dark one and tell him you have lost your fight this night.’

  Abbadon howled in retaliation, but retreated when he saw the anger flare in the magician’s eyes. He was furious at being unable to reap Crystal’s soul for that had been the bargain between his master and Forusian, but there would be other times and other chances, and this thought gave him comfort. She would be his one day, of that he was sure. With a shriek that left the blood running cold, Abbadon made his way out of the tower, taking with him the dark clouds and suffocating air.

  Clutching his belly, Bridgemear tried to stand but found it impossible; then a gloved hand came towards his face. There were no longer dark shadows to hide the mysterious person who had saved his life and Bridgemear looked directly into the red eyes of Tremlon. His pale skin looked just as white as he remembered but his grip was far stronger. Tremlon pulled the magician to his feet and Bridgemear glanced over to see the shape-changer was still holding the blade that dripped with Forusian’s blood. He recognised the blade immediately for it was the magnificent Sword of Truth.

  ‘You saved my life,’ said Bridgemear, when Tremlon let him go.

  ‘I owed you,’ said Tremlon, tight-lipped. ‘All these years I have lived with the knowledge that I was the one who betrayed your love for Amella, and because of what I did she was cast out and her child taken away. Now it is time to make amends; King Gamada is dead and Amella must return home to us and reign as queen.’

  Bridgemear fell silent, unable to digest the shape-changer’s words. In the distance someone was yelling, but his mind was still reeling from the revelation that King Gamada was dead.

  ‘There they are!’ shouted a number of familiar voices.

  Bridgemear managed to snap his attention towards those whom he had openly condemned.

  ‘Help me!’ called Amadeus, when he recognised the face of Elveria. ‘We must get Crystal down from here, for she will die if we do not hurry.’

  Bridgemear stared open-mouthed when Elveria, Voleton and Amafar took control and, with their own spells cast, brought Crystal back to safety. With Forusian dead their powers were once again united and he felt his muscles ache as his body responded to the power of self-healing. His flesh tingled when the gaping wounds closed and his sliced intestines stung like a belly full of wasps until they placed themselves back inside his abdomen. He winced and gritted his teeth so as not to cry out until the pain eventually subsided.

  ‘There is one more thing I must do,’ Tremlon said, fixing his gaze upon the rows of hideous creatures who stood waiting for the breath of life that would never come. His boots sounded dull upon the ground as he turned and faced the goblins. He swung the magical sword above his head and as he reached the first victim he placed his opening strike against its neck. The body fell to the ground with its head completely severed. Tremlon didn’t wait; instead, he swung the sword again and the glistening of the metal shone each time it made contact, slicing the head off each and every grotesque figure. Although his arms ached, he didn’t stop until he had slaughtered every last one.

  Amella stirred, then sat bolt upright. She blinked, realising the scene was not as she remembered. She had been dragged away from the pit and she sensed the presence of another close to her.

  ‘It’s all over,’ said Bridgemear softly in her ear. He watched her turn to him and saw the look of bewilderment fill her eyes and he put his arms around her, giving her a strong embrace.

  ‘Take a moment to rest,’ he said, stroking her wild hair. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, because against the odds we somehow saved our daughter.’

  Epilogue

  Seven days had passed with Crystal resting in her chamber in the Kingdom of Nine Winters. Amella stepped from behind a marble pillar and watched her daughter sip from a chalice filled to the brim with a potion made from her own special recipe. A hearty fire crackled in the corner and the sweet aroma of fresh herbs filled the air.

  ‘I have someone to see you if you’re up to it?’ she said, folding her arms against her chest. Crystal smiled and her face lit up.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked, smoothing the crumpled sheets, unable to hide her excitement.

  Amella clapped her hands and a servant opened the bedroom door.

  ‘Matt!’ Crystal cried with pleasure. ‘My God, is it really you?’

  Matt grinned sheepishly.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ he said, feeling shy.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, patting the bedclothes, her eyes turning bright.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ he teased, drawing nearer. ‘After all, you’re the patient, not me.’ They both burst out laughing when he jumped on the bed, the atmosphere alive with their happiness at seeing each other again.

  Amella heard the swish-click of metal against armour and cricked her neck to spy Arhdel wavering at the chamber door. She signalled him to enter, but he hesitated.

  ‘Come in, come in, you’re more than welcome here,’ she insisted, ushering him inside.

  ‘Is that Arhdel?’ asked Crystal, waving him closer.

  ‘I am glad you’re safe,’ he said, when he approached. His voice took on a compassionate note when he saw her look of joy and it warmed his heart.

  ‘And I am so glad you’re alive,’ she laughed, sliding her dainty hand into his.

  Arhdel swallowed and he squeezed her delicate fingers between his.

  ‘Me too,’ he said in a gruff tone.

  ‘Right, everyone, time to let our little heroine get some rest,’ said Amella with a light smile.

  She walked to the window and forced the drapes closed. The sunlight vanished and the room became instantly dark.

  ‘Close your eyes and go to sleep,’ she commanded, raising her eyebrows and rounding up the visitors, hustling them out of the door.

  ‘But I feel fine,’ Crystal moaned, watching her friends leave and forcing a pout.

  ‘Good, then taking a little nap will make you feel even better,’ Amella insisted, sliding the door closed behind her.

  ‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ asked Arhdel, when they stepped into the drawing room and Matt was out of earshot. Amella wrung her hands and started to pace the floor. She found she could not look him in the eye.

  ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘how can I?’

  ‘If you leave it any longer it will be too late. Tomorrow she returns to her old world, and what will you do then?’

&nbs
p; ‘Perhaps I should let Bridgemear tell her. After all, we’re in this mess because of him.’

  ‘That’s not quite true is it, Amella? It does take two to make a baby.’

  Amella’s cheeks burned with embarrassment; she had asked for that.

  ‘The child needs to know,’ he said, lowering his voice when he saw Matt draw close. ‘Time is of the essence,’ he added, leaving her side and taking his leave.

  Sometime later Crystal awoke, her head feeling much clearer from the effects of the potion and, revitalised, she threw back the covers, eager to get out of bed. She thought back to the last few days. She couldn’t remember much after Forusian had tied her to the stake and for that she was secretly relieved. She remembered her first lucid day in Amella’s kingdom though. She had awoken from a fretful fever to find many strangers peering down at her, causing her to become frightened. Then Amella had appeared and tried to explain to her how she had become queen and was ruler of the Kingdom of Nine Winters. The king, Amella’s father, had been murdered by Forusian’s hand and Crystal felt a wave of sadness wash over her; she had never met him, yet she felt his passing with genuine grief.

  Amella had explained the sudden departure of Elveria and the others, who had been sent back to Raven’s Rainbow on important business, allowing only Bridgemear to remain. Inside, she sensed she was the important business but didn’t press the new queen for more information.

  She padded to the foot of her bed and found a luxurious robe to put on. The material was soft and warm, making her feel relaxed and secure. Her delicate feet slipped into her new jewelled slippers and then she made her way to the door.