“Yesss. Master must work fast. Must think only of spells, not of outside.” Stone thumped his chest. “Depends on gargoyles to watch for enemies.”
“This will be soon?”
“Soon, human.”
The warrior shook his head. “We’ll still need Tyros for this. We have to rescue him!”
Stone started to protest, but the kender spoke first. “We have to save Serene, too! We can’t just leave her.”
The gargoyle hissed in consternation. “Cannot do!”
“He’s right, Rapp,” the captain agreed, momentarily mollifying Stone’s fears that they would go crashing into Valkyn’s chambers in the hopes of rescuing a female. “Let’s concentrate on getting Tyros. He’s the one we need to make this work.”
Stone shook his head. “Cannot do. No Tyros!”
“Listen here, friend,” Bakal snarled. “If anyone’s got a chance to defeat your master, it’s Tyros. We need to rescue him.”
The gargoyle’s wings stretched as he mulled over the human’s words. He had no choice if he wanted them to play their part. Still, it would be risky trying to lead this band to the cell where Tyros had been imprisoned, assuming he even remained there. No, for this to be done properly, it would require only one to do the work, and unfortunately that meant Stone himself.
The gargoyle let out an exasperated sigh. How he longed for the woodland ruins from which Valkyn had plucked him. “Will try …”
* * * * *
“I know of you, Tyros. You are not the only one who made use of the conclave’s storehouse of knowledge.”
Tyros barely paid Valkyn any attention, still reeling at the shock Serene must have felt when she discovered that her lost love had not been kidnapped but had instead been the kidnapper … and worse. Already Norwych had suffered dearly because of his creation, this monstrous new flying citadel, and one if not both of the golden dragons guarding Gwynned had also perished. Valkyn had caused more deaths than many commanders in the war, and yet he looked oblivious to it, his demeanor almost constantly cheerful, even inviting. Valkyn cared nothing for anyone save himself.
Yet his eyes lingered on Serene. His hands, though gloved, now and then caressed her neck. Perhaps Valkyn still cared for the cleric, but did he expect her to forgive him for his evils?
“Your efforts showed me some of the particular weaknesses, the errors, involved in the creation of past citadels. All that power invested in something so haphazard! When the war started, Ariakas had at least a dozen flying. Oh, they frightened his foes at first and enabled him to literally drop his forces on the enemy, but the cost to maintain them! The constant chanting by mages and clerics, the lack of defenses against airborne retaliation. To save a citadel, he had to start adding dragons to its defenses, drawing them away from the other parts of his forces. Why create such a marvel if it cannot even sufficiently defend itself?”
The captive mage said nothing, knowing that Valkyn sought no answer to the question but rather simply enjoyed hearing himself talk of his triumph.
Valkyn released Serene and started back to the balcony. “Come join me out here, my friend. I want you to see this.”
Tyros had no choice, for the robed shadows thrust him forward, following their master outside.
The wind tossed Tyros’s hair around as they stepped out. Valkyn, hair cropped close, seemed not to even notice the gale. He leaned on the rail, staring beyond the castle walls.
The servants shoved Tyros next to him, then stepped back. The crimson mage looked out at the world below, visible in part from the balcony. He felt a brief touch of vertigo as he watched the landscape continually shift.
“A magnificent sight, isn’t it? The only other place where you can get this view is from atop a dragon, and there you might find it much less comfortable!”
What did Valkyn hope to achieve? Did he hope to recruit his adversary? Surely not! Tyros could have never been a party to such madness!
“Do you understand anything about where a mage draws his power from, Tyros?”
An elementary question. “From the magic of the world and its moons, as focused to us by the gods Solinari, Lunitari, and Nuitari. Without the three, we would be hard-pressed to perform even the slightest spells.”
“But the elements required to first perform magic are the same no matter what order you choose, are they not?”
“I suppose.”
“That they are!” Valkyn slapped him on the back. “How else would it be so easy for one to switch robes?” He indicated his own garments. “If it required complete retraining, few would ever shift from one color to the next, would they?”
Tyros didn’t know if he followed Valkyn correctly or if he even cared what the mage meant. What did interest him was that not once since he had entered the chamber had thinking about magic caused his head to throb. Could he now perform a spell? If he could catch his captor unaware …
Valkyn grinned wider. “Oh, you shouldn’t do that!”
The younger mage fell to the rail, his head now feeling as if it was about to split in two. His ebony-clad companion had to pull him back in order to keep Tyros from falling to his death. Tyros collapsed to his knees, holding his head and praying for the agony to end.
“You know how to stop the pain, my young friend. You know what you have to do.…”
Tyros forced all thoughts of casting spells from his mind, and as he did, the pain began to lessen. Tears still filling his eyes, he finally managed to look up at his captor. Instead he saw Serene.
“Does it have to hurt so much?” she pleaded with Valkyn.
“Not if he behaves, my Serene. Calm yourself. See? He’s almost on his feet again!”
“That … was what … happened the first time we met!” the stricken mage snarled. “You had me brought here right after my capture, but when I struggled, you put this spell on me. That’s what made me black out and forget our first meeting. I still tried to cast … to cast a spell … but I nearly died!”
Valkyn nodded approval. “An amazing recovery! I am impressed. You’ve a strong mind, a strong will, my friend.”
He didn’t like the way his counterpart complimented him, as if measuring Tyros for something in particular. That made the weary spellcaster think of Leot and the others. What had the mad mage needed them for?
“Valkyn,” Serene murmured, “at least let him recuperate inside.”
“Of course, my love, my serenity.”
The shadows dragged Tyros back into the sumptuous chamber, leading their prisoner past the unblinking gargoyles to a well-cushioned chair, where they deposited him. Valkyn walked over to a large decanter, poured a bit of wine in a goblet, then tossed the goblet to Tyros. The captive mage reacted instinctively, then cursed when he saw the wine glass drift gently through the air, not a drop of its contents spilling. He seized it when it drew near, but paused to look at the liquid before drinking.
“You’ll enjoy it,” the goateed mage urged.
Tyros had to admit that it was excellent, but that in no manner warmed him to his host. He felt like the fatted calf waiting to be slaughtered.
Serene had seated herself on the edge of a couch, her eyes shifting from one man to the other. Valkyn filled two more goblets, then joined her. The cleric drank from hers with as much enthusiasm as had Tyros.
“As you may have guessed, a Solamnic Knight built this castle.” Valkyn downed his wine. “A sad sort of fellow, I think, but he controlled great wealth. Have you noticed how few of our kind control great wealth? We generally find it for others, be they emperors, generals, or brigands. A minute share may go to us, but just as often we end up with a blade in our back. Not at all a fate worthy of a mage after so many years of study and effort. We should be the masters, not the lackeys.”
“And so you’ll conquer Ansalon and turn the world to your liking? You’ll do what Ariakas could not?”
“Eventually, although General Cadrio down below will take a more immediate hand in it. Cadrio is a bit unstable, but da
ring, a trait I like. Of course, if he should become a bit too ambitious, which often happens with military officers, I’ll replace him as simply as I can replace this.”
The goblet in his hand melted completely.
There was no warning, no slow process. The goblet melted as if suddenly made of warm butter. The softening metal dripped over Valkyn’s glove, yet did not burn or stain it. Valkyn opened his palm and let the molten metal fall between his fingers, creating a sizzling puddle on the rich floor. The shining puddle continued to sizzle, rapidly growing smaller. In just a few breaths, it dwindled to nothing.
For the first time, though, Tyros sensed some artifact or item of power hidden within his captor’s robes. It had flared during the spell that melted the goblet, but now had grown all but undetectable. Still, at least it gave him some explanation as to how Valkyn could seemingly perform endless magic.
“Serene thinks that you might be useful to me.”
Surprised, Tyros could think of nothing to say. Serene had thought he might ally himself with Valkyn? Surely not! He looked but could read nothing in her face.
“She says that you are ambitious and ever thinking of how to glorify yourself. She acknowledges your intelligence, but believes you use it only to better suit your station. You’re no villain, but neither are you a hero, which is why you wear the red, for lack of a more suitable color.” Valkyn folded his arms behind him and walked toward his counterpart, eyes very much alive with speculation. “It would be interesting to summon forth a second citadel so quickly. I already have most of what I need to do that.” Here he glanced at the cleric, who betrayed no emotion. “It would require one with ambition going beyond the archaic bounds of darkness and light to perform such a spell with me. You would fit the role splendidly, Tyros!”
It occurred to Tyros that Serene had likely suggested him in order to save his life. Certainly it would give the red mage the chance to discover Valkyn’s secrets. “I am flattered by your offer and would find it impossible to turn down even if I—”
Valkyn chuckled. “Did I say anything about actually offering you such a chance? I was simply musing about what might have been.” His smile turned cold. “Would you care to see how my creation works? How I’ve taken the design of the flying citadel and enhanced it?”
Tyros tried not to think of the spells involved in Atriun’s function out of fear that he would again suffer agony. Very carefully, and with the knowledge that he had no choice anyway, the captive replied, “I would be honored to see it.”
“Splendid! Serene, I think you should see this, too.”
Valkyn indicated that they should rise. The shadowy servants brought Tyros over to their master. Serene stepped to Valkyn’s side as the goateed mage reached into his robes to retrieve a wand with a crystalline sphere atop it. Tyros recognized the sphere as a smaller version of the ones in the tower.
Valkyn held the wand high and muttered something. Tyros caught one or two words of magic, but no more.
They stood now in a different room.
The shift came with such swiftness that it caught even Tyros unaware. With most teleport spells, one usually felt some sense of displacement, but Valkyn’s had brought them to their destination faster than the proverbial blink of an eye. What power did the other spellcaster wield … or rather, what power did the wand draw from? Tyros cut the thoughts short as his brain started to pound again.
“Valkyn, remove the spell!” Serene pleaded. “Can’t you see that it’s hurting him again?”
“Welcome to a place few have had the honor to visit,” the dark mage announced, completely ignoring Serene. “Once this housed villains caught in the province, but now it acts as the focal point of my research, my life’s work. Here I’ve turned theory into substance! Here I’ve taken magic to new directions!”
Tyros looked around. His eyes immediately widened.
Here stood the source of power for both Atriun and its master. Tyros had expected that it would in some ways resemble a Wind Captain’s Chair, but on a larger, grander scale. In this Tyros was not disappointed, for before them stood two massive white marble columns that stretched almost to the ceiling, their sides etched from top to bottom with runes. On top of each marble column stood a golden crystalline sphere of gargantuan proportions. Each of the spheres crackled with raw sorcerous energy. Yet more astounding, that energy continually passed between the two crystals, building in intensity.
Tyros’s head tingled, but this time he felt no pain. Despite misgivings, he marveled at how Valkyn had harnessed such energy, which clearly then transmitted to the tower above or the wizard’s wand. Little wonder that Valkyn had been able to raise a behemoth such as Castle Atriun; with the power that Tyros sensed, the dark wizard might have raised a citadel twice as large.
Yes, Valkyn of Culthairai had indeed created a magical marvel, a flying citadel that did not require the constant chanting and spell casting of several wizards and clerics combined, but one element of his design would forever ensure that in the end Tyros would feel nothing but disgust for it. That element now hung limp between the two high columns, wrists and ankles stretched apart by the manacles holding him in place. Once the tattered cloth the figure wore had been white and the body within had filled it to near capacity. Now the robe hung loose, its wearer only a thin shadow of his former self. He looked dead, but now and then the head moved back and forth.
Tyros had found Leot … or what remained of him.
He eyed Serene, who had grown pale. Surely she had never expected Valkyn could be the cause of such evil. Valkyn might have come but late to the robes of Nuitari, but he had earned them well. Tyros doubted that many of the dark order would have dared what this foul mage had.
Valkyn pointed at Leot. Another shadow servant drifted over from the right side of the room. Tyros glanced around and saw that at least four more stood ready. Where had they come from?
The servant reached up and with bony, pale fingers, revealed Leot’s face completely to the newcomers.
No pupils stared from the sockets, only the whites. The drawn, dead face looked years older than the man Tyros recalled, as if Leot had aged a hundred years. The soulless whites looked directly at the crimson-clad mage, but Tyros saw no recognition, no sign that Leot still existed in the shell before him.
With a shudder, he eyed the shadow servants again … and knew at last their origin. Valkyn might not have needed the chanting of clerics and wizards to keep Atriun in the sky, but he had other uses for his fellow spellcasters. These mages, including old Kendilious, had all suffered so that Atriun could fly. Now Leot had been added to their unholy list.
The master of the citadel studied Leot’s deathly face with the detachment one might have used studying a speck of dust. “As I thought. Not much left. We’ll have to remove him soon.”
A fury so great that he couldn’t control it welled up within Tyros. Again he recalled Leot distracting the gargoyles in the tower in Gwynned. If not for the rotund wizard, it would have been Tyros hanging between these columns, his life burned from him.
Tearing himself free, Tyros lunged at Valkyn. Magic might be beyond the crimson wizard, but his hands were strong enough to throttle his foul counterpart. All he had to do was get them around Valkyn’s throat.
Inches from his goal, his hands turned against him. Tyros’s fingers snaked for his own throat, trying to squeeze the life from him. He grew more furious and tried to fight back, but his hands inched closer and closer.
“Tyros!” Serene called. “It’s just as if you tried magic! Don’t think about it! Let the hate go!”
Tyros tried desperately to forget his hatred of the other mage, to forget what Valkyn had done to Leot and others. He found it almost impossible, the image of the White Robe’s slack expression still haunting him.
Finally, though, Tyros’s hands relaxed, once more under his control. However, the effort he had put into saving himself had cost him, and he fell to one knee, trying to regain his strength.
The
exhausted mage turned his thoughts to Serene, imagining the sorrow and horror she must be going through. To find out how horrific Valkyn had become and how oblivious he seemed to his own evil had to have shaken the cleric’s faith to the core.
Tyros heard the harsh sound of boots and saw the robe of Valkyn near him. Still gasping, he looked up at the monstrously cheerful countenance of his captor.
“Yes, full of vigor, and more strength than I could have imagined! You should never have gotten as near as you did!”
Near? Dwelling in his failure, Tyros thought about the futile attempt he had made. Near? He might as well have tried to leap the length of the New Sea!
“I think this charade’s gone far enough.” Without warning, Valkyn touched the tip of the wand against his adversary’s temple.
A shock went through Tyros, and he blacked out.
* * * * *
For Serene, the day had become an endless horror. She had expected the worst when the gargoyle had snatched her off the griffon and taken her into Castle Atriun, but events had far exceeded even her most terrible nightmares.
When the gargoyle had deposited her in this grand chamber, the cleric had expected to confront some sinister servant of the goddess Takhisis, only to have instead a smiling Valkyn greet her with open arms. She had thrown herself happily into those arms, paying no heed to the change in the color of his robe. Even then Serene had assumed he wore them only because his captors demanded it.
Only when he had commanded the gargoyles to bring him Tyros had she at last admitted to herself that the one for whom she had so long hunted was not a captive, but instead the ruler of the flying citadel.
Even then Serene had tried to convince herself that Valkyn could not be the monster events so far had portrayed him. She could live with his apparent desertion of her, and even his raising of Castle Atriun the cleric could understand. It had always been Valkyn’s dream to unlock the secrets of such magic and refine them. But Serene found it impossible to explain away the deaths and devastation in Norwych caused by his citadel.
The Citadel Page 18