by James Fuller
Astaroth grinned at the violent scene around him. Another eight lay dead - one had even been a wizard. This was the third such group that had come in search of them from Draco; he knew there would be more out there. The last two groups had been a mixture of Draco soldiers and Prince Berrit’s personal guard that had been left behind and he smirked at the irony.
He watched as Keithen slowly recovered. He had allowed him to take the Gift - this was the fourth Gift Keithen had taken. He was eager and hungry for power and that was a useful tool, as long as it was fed when needed. As much as he hated Keithen, he knew he had use for him. Keithen was loyal and would do anything he told him to and right now, that was what Astaroth needed, at least until Vashina returned. He smirked to himself - he missed her company and her warmth.
“I will never tire of that feeling,” Keithen exclaimed, stumbling over to Astaroth, his body still trembling.
“You will never have to tire of it, for there will be hundreds more,” Astaroth lied. Once Keithen’s use had run its course, he would kill the young wizard and take back all the power he had bestowed upon him.
Keithen smiled. “I pray that you are right.” He turned back to the gory scene. “Never in my life would I have thought I could use my Gift as I just did. I owe you everything, Master.”
Astaroth nodded distractedly. Yes, the young man would be loyal until Astaroth betrayed him. He had to suppress a grin at the thought of Keithen’s wide eyes searching his for a reason when the time came. “Let us return to the cave and out of this miserable weather.”
The cave was not far and soon they were sitting around a warm fire, drying their sodden clothing, enjoying the fresh food they had stolen from the soldiers they massacred. They had used several hiding places since they had barely escaped from the castle with their lives. This shallow cave had been the best. It was dry, hidden and looked to have never been used by man.
“So what is our plan now?” Keithen asked, breaking the long silence. He did not often disrupt Astaroth, for he knew the powerful man enjoyed his silent thoughts.
Astaroth looked across the warm, wavering flames at his underling and had to suppress a sneer. It was a simple, yet understandable question to ask, one that he had been pondering for several days now. There were several options, yet one burned within him, outpacing the rest. He wanted into Salvas once more - not because he wanted to be accepted or that he missed his home, though the latter did hold some truth. No, he wanted the powers that resided within. But to do so, he needed the ring and the only one outside of Salvas was avariciously coveted by Kinor, the barbarian’s shaman. “We must go to Dragon’s Cove. I must retrieve something that belongs to me and then I will take you to a place you could only dream of.”
“Salvas?” Keithen asked, his eyes widening in awe. Astaroth had told him of the place and of many of its secrets and much about the powers that were hidden within.
“Yes, Keithen, Salvas.”
*****
Dagon paced the grand library of Draco Castle. The vast, knowledge-filled room had been one of King Borrack’s greatest treasures. Borrack had always believed one of mankind’s greatest achievements had been the written word and it had pained him that it was so easily disregarded. It had been a dream of his to construct schools throughout Draco Kingdom. Only two such schools had been built before he had been murdered. Drandor had been the first to build such a school, in the hope that more of the soldiers in training would take it upon themselves to learn. Tundal had even begun to make it a mandatory part of training- that all soldiers were to learn the basic skills of reading and writing. Then there was a school here within the city, though it was seldom full. Dagon ran a finger along the spine of a large tome; when this was over, he would help see more schools built.
Dagon and Wallace had arrived too late to confront the false prince and bring him to justice. His wife and Lady Tora - with the help of Master Regis - had discovered the truth and had tried to put an end to it before anyone else had been hurt. The False Prince of Zandor had escaped with Keithen before he had arrived and it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Several groups had quickly been assembled to search the treasonous bastards out and to bring them swift punishment… no mercy was to be given. Many of those groups had been accompanied by the new wizards that were residing within Draco’s walls. Dagon was quick to call into action the group of Sintu that King Dante had left behind - men who were trained solely for the hunting and slaughtering of those with the Gift. As much as Dagon hated what the Sintu were created for, he could not deny their usefulness in this mission.
He had almost gone with them; his rage and need to avenge his two lost friends nearly overcoming his judgment. As always, his loving wife had been there to help lead him to the correct course he needed to take. He was too valuable to risk now. With King Borrack and Lord Tundal dead and Lord Marcus on his deathbed, Dagon was now the acting King of Draco. He was needed here to hold the reins of the Kingdom and bring it back under control.
The thought was nearly overwhelming. He had never in his life aspired - or even desired - to be King. He had been more than content with his life as Lord of Mandrake, as his father had been before him and his before that. But he was - until Ursa and Queen Nicolette could be found and informed that the truth had been discovered, he would remain acting King.
“This was not how things were meant to be!” Frustration and anger finally took him and he threw a large book on at a painting of Borrack. Pages flew everywhere. “I was the reckless one, not you! You knew everything: when to fight, when to run, when to speak, when to listen…who you could trust, who you could not. I looked to you for these things, but where are you now when I need you the most!” He screamed as he stared up at the painting of his dear friend, tears streaking down his face and into his thick, unkempt beard. He turned to the painting of Tundal with bitter resentment. “And you! Do not think you have escaped my rage!” He pointed his finger defiantly and stepped closer, as if the Lord of Drandor was before him in the flesh. “You knew everything he did not and counseled him. You two were the minds of this great kingdom. You two shared this grand vision and knew how to see it thrive, not me! I was merely a sword, not the mind that wielded it.” He slumped down into a nearby chair, his sobs sapping his strength. “Now you two are gone and here I am left alone while the world you both created crumbles all around me. I do not know if I have the mind or the strength to stop it... I am just a sword.”
“Maybe a sword is what this kingdom needs right now,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
Dagon turned to see the King of Zandor standing within. The King was dirty and unshaven; Dagon had forgotten the about messenger that had brought tidings that the neighboring King would be arriving that afternoon with a thousand men. King Dante had discovered the body of his son, Prince Berrit, within his son’s private chambers, shortly after they had returned home. Dagon had sent a messenger back with King Dante’s, with details of what had transpired already.
“Even as a sword I have be next to useless.” Dagon pushed himself to his feet, ashamed for his present appearance. “King Dante, I apologize for my current state and wish I could welcome you here under better circumstances.”
Dante held up his hand and silenced him. “Lord Dagon, you need not make needless formalities for me right now.” Dante grasped Dagon’s arm in greeting. “It is I that needs to apologize to you.”
Dagon looked at the King queerly. “I do not understand?”
“It shames me to have not known who my own son was. Shape-shifter or not, I should have noticed the differences in his behavior and conduct.” Dante’s voice was full of agonized remorse.
“You could not have known,” Dagon replied, feeling the man’s pain.
“But I should have, he was my son,” Dante countered. “If I cannot see a man is my son or not, what kind of King am I?”
“One that had his mind elsewhere; with thoughts of a beautiful wedding, which would end a century long rivalry.”
/>
“Your words are too kind, but graciously received.” King Dante nodded in thanks. “You are a stronger and wiser man than you give yourself credit for, Dagon. Do not allow self-doubt to breed its insecurities too deeply, lest you are unable to find your way out again.”
Dagon shrugged sheepishly. “This was not how it was meant to be. We were to grow old together and die, fat and drunk in our beds.”
Dante smiled. “We all have that hope, yet it seldom happens for men like us - a curse for all the luxuries we possess, perhaps. I am here with an army outside your gates to help right the wrongs that have been done to this kingdom because of that bastard that killed my son and took his form!”
Dagon was thankful for the conversation change. “Did you have any encounters on the way here?” Dagon asked, gesturing for the Zandorian king to sit and refresh himself with wine and food that waited on the table.
“We came upon several small armies of savages, most fled us once they saw our strength - those foolish enough to test our steel fell to it, quickly. But there was much evidence to show a great deal of movement has happened - they seem to be moving west, toward Dragon’s Cove in large numbers. I would assume they are gathering, hoping to take another castle.”
Dagon cursed under his breath. “It would be a wise move for them. It would run our troops thin if we were to try and take both back at the same time, leaving Draco and Drandor vulnerable.”
“I do not understand how they have become so adept in military strategy. In all my years, I have never seen barbarians so well organized,” Dante said. “It is as if they have someone working within our...” he stopped and turned to Dagon. “You do not think the shape-shifter was working with them?”
Dagon was flooded with realization. “Keeper’s balls, it would make sense.”
“We caught him outside of the castle late at night several times.” Master Regis said, standing in the doorway. “I apologize for my intruding, but I believe you are fully correct in your assessment of this wizard.”
“Then they will likely already know all our numbers, strengths and weaknesses,” Dante sighed. “We need to kill this bastard!”
“All that can be done is being done to find him,” Regis replied. “The likelihood of finding him is slim. But that cannot be our concern right now.”
“Regis is right…right now we need to organize our armies and wipe out the barbarians before they can get a bigger foothold within the Kingdom,” Dagon added.
Chapter 10
A duo of ice blades cut through the large target and it crumbled in defeat as three others had moments before. Meath stepped forward eagerly as two more earthy mounds rose to impede him. An arc of power lay one low in a spray of dirt and defeat, while a sphere of wizard’s fire engulfed the other with its blistering heat.
Meath looked to the side of the training area and caught sight of Tabitha between several others – each had stopped to watch him train. She was leaning against the stone railing, watching him as she had for the last few days. He grinned as he felt the ground behind him rumble. Meath shoulder-rolled forward and came up, facing his next two opponents, his palm already swirling with a torrent of air, quickly rendering one target ruined. Meath charged forward and released a frozen blade into the mound; a forward kick pushed the icicle deeper, toppling the opponent.
Meath’s hands were aglow with fire as he scanned his surroundings, prepared for more. When he saw Titus coming forward, he knew the round was done and the flames diminished.
“You have improved greatly these last few days,” Titus told him, handing him a water skin. “It is good to see you are not relying on one element any more, though you have still to use the earth.”
“I have not been able to summon earth… yet,” Meath admitted, handing back the water skin.
Titus grunted. “It is one of the hardest to learn, but also has some of the greatest advantages in battle…you must learn it.”
“I will try my best,” Meath replied.
“Trying gets you dead; you will do more than just try,” Titus growled sternly, his eyes wandering to the side at the imposing newcomer carrying two ironwood training swords. “Donner, what do you seek here?” Titus asked, a hint of irritation in his tone.
“Him,” Donner replied, tossing one of the swords to Meath, who caught it with ease.
“What is the meaning of this?” Titus snapped. “He is not ready for this yet.”
“You are wrong, Titus,” Donner said, not taking his eyes from Meath as he began to circle him.
“His powers are weak; he has been training all morning.”
“You think Astaroth or Vashina will wait for him to recover if he is tired?” Donner countered. “You were a soldier long before you began your training as a wizard, yet both are equally useful in battle. Your brother and his cohort are highly trained in both, making them a deadly pair. If you are to survive an encounter with either of them, you will need to know how to use both at the same time, with equal efficiency.”
“What do you want me to do?” Meath asked, his feet already moving him to counter Donner’s movements.
“I want you to attack me using everything you know and do not hold anything back. If you can kill me, then I expect you to do so.”
Meath squared himself into a stance as he mirrored Donner’s movements. He knew he would be relying mostly on his skills with a sword, for Titus had been correct - his Gift was weak and he doubted it would have much to offer him. Meath stepped in, his wooden sword coming in low, when a pulse of air erupted from Donner’s free hand, throwing Meath from his feet.
“This is not just a swordfight, Meath, do not try and see it as such,” Donner scolded and then charged forward, an ice spike forming in one hand, his sword in his other.
Meath rolled himself back onto his feet, the ice spike digging into the ground where he had been a second before. He came up quickly, blocking the downward chop. The impact of the strike numbed his hands painfully, but he held on. He pushed Donner back, freeing one of his hands. Wizard’s fire sprang forth but Donner spun himself clear, his blade arcing around wide. Meath ducked below the strike and threw himself at Donner. A solid elbow found his back and a harder knee met his face for the attempt and he staggered back, barely getting his sword up in time to block the next three attacks. The earth sank beneath his feet and Meath fell backward. He recovered into a roll and was back on his feet, an ice blade launching towards his trainer. Donner’s hand was up and a burst of air knocked the ice harmlessly aside. Meath was already sprinting towards him, an orb of flames leading the way. Once more, Donner spun and avoided the attack. Meath’s sword sliced in for his midsection but a column of earth shot up and Meath’s sword cracked into it. Donner stepped around the pillar, his own sword striking Meath behind the knees, dropping him to the ground, defeated.
“You did better than I expected,” Donner said with mild amusement. “Tomorrow, when the first rays of the sun escape from behind the mountains, you begin training with me…do not be late.” Donner leaned down and collected Meath’s sword.
“You cannot just assume he is to begin training with you,” Titus protested. “Wait until Zada hears of this.”
“I already know, Titus,” Zada said, leaning over the stone railing beside Tabitha and the others. “If Donner believes he is ready, then I trust his judgment.”
Titus stiffened and held his tongue in check. “Yes, my Lady,” Titus replied, turning a bitter eye on Donner as he walked away.
“Meath,” Lady Zada called to him and waited for him to look up to her, “well done.” Without another word, she turned and left.
Meath watched his mother walk away - he wanted those words to mean something but they felt hollow. His attention was pulled to Tabitha as she walked over to him.
“That was impressive to say the least,” she said with a wide smile.
Meath shrugged. “It was not that impressive; I still lost.”
“Well, your fans seem to not care about that.” She gl
anced up at the small crowd of young wizards, who were watching Meath eagerly. “Give them a wave.”
“I am nothing special,” Meath muttered, “they are wasting their time.” He turned to walk away, but Tabitha grabbed his arm and turned him back, her eyes hard.
“You may not think yourself special, Meath, but they do. To them you may be the only hope to stopping Astaroth and the terrible things he will do to this place if he ever returns. So, before you throw their faith and feelings aside so carelessly, you might want to think why that faith is being placed with you to begin with.”
Meath felt the sting of her words as she walked away from him. He looked back to the group and waved to them with a fixed smile.
Meath stared out his room window at the slowly awaking village. Only a handful of the hundred and seventeen inhabitants were up this early. So many, though Meath had met nearly none of them and had only observed most in passing. He was bitter and angry at everything and took it out on any who got close. Guilt often plagued him now. None of them had deserved his sharpened, poison-tipped words, but most avoided him anyway.
Meath could not deny his inner need for companionship. It was something that he yearned for deeply, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. Stefan was the best example - the night they met, Meath could have easily kept walking, yet he did not and now, he found he truly enjoyed the Druid’s company.
Kara was another that he found himself spending time with of late…and then there was Tabitha. She was one of his trainers, but in the last several days she had taken a bigger interest in him and had managed to talk him into going fishing with her. He had been hesitant at first, yet found himself compelled to. There was something about her that was beginning to intrigue him and he enjoyed the simple, normal time spent with her. Yet something tingled in the back of his mind about her, something he was going to address today and put to rest one way or another. He needed to know who he could trust.