Dark King Of The North (Book 3)

by Ty Johnston

“Yes, my lord,” Lendo repeated.

  A disturbing grin crossed the king’s face. “We live in the final days, captain,” he said with a glazed look. “That is our honor and our glory.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Verkain blinked and his eyes returned to normal. “On your way to the fields, have Bishop Althgar sent to my library.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Lendo did not move. He had not been told he was allowed to move.

  “Go.”

  Lendo eased off the bed and crossed the short distance to the door. He exited without looking back.

  ***

  Only minutes passed before Lord Verkain seated himself with crossed legs on the floor in the center of his library. Around him on the wooden floor was drawn a pentagram in red powder. Hanging iron candelabras at either end of the room sent twisting shadows to spin along row after row of dusty shelves lined with books, scrolls, vials and other glass containers.

  In the air hung the musky scent of burning incense.

  Verkain sat for long minutes, silent and unmoving, his eyes closed. Before him, on the ground, was a small bronze basin filled with a red fluid which would bubble every few seconds.

  “You have invited my presence,” a deep, grating voice said.

  Verkain opened his eyes.

  In the space before him floated a scarlet shadow, the thing appearing to drift on the air; in the center of the red glow were two golden, glowing orbs. No other features appeared on the thing.

  “I have need of you,” Verkain whispered.

  “Your plans must be in jeopardy for you to have contacted me so soon after my banishment,” the demon general Ybalik said, its voice grating.

  “A powerful enemy has hidden himself.”

  The crimson mist chuckled, a harsh laugh that shook the floor and sent vibrations through the Kobalan king.

  “Markwood,” the demon said.

  “Yes.”

  “He is the last of The Twelve. He has within him the power to stop you.”

  “He is weak, injured,” Verkain said. “If I locate him, I can wash away the last hope of Ashal.”

  “I am unable to return to you, but there are others.” The demon’s voice sounded of iron scrapping against stone.

  “Thank you, my general.”

  “The price will be high,” the red mist said. “The soul of one of your serving whores will not do.”

  Verkain grinned. “I have someone in mind.”

  ***

  A slave finished sweeping away the scarlet powder from the library floor just as a knock came to a door at one end of the room.

  Verkain hissed and motioned at the servant, a young woman, who promptly fled out another exit at the opposite end.

  “Enter,” the king said, seated behind a table covered in yellow parchments.

  Bishop Althgar opened the door and approached, violet robes flowing around him. “You asked to see me, your highness.”

  Verkain stood as a fearsome smile crossed his lips.

  The bishop blanched, nearly taking a step back.

  “We have much to discuss, your holiness,” Verkain said.

  Althgar nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  Verkain moved from behind the desk and came closer to the bishop. “Please, I need to oversee training of my troops, your holiness.” He waved a hand at the nearest door. “Shall we speak while we walk?”

  “I see no reason why we cannot,” the bishop said, turning to exit with the northerner following.

  A pair of pikemen fell in behind the two as they made their way along a dark hallway.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you specifics about the invasion,” Bishop Althgar said. “Word arrived last night from the Eastern forces along the Prisonlands border. The generals need word on your plan of attack.”

  “I will strike the Prisonlands first, your holiness,” Verkain said as they walked. “That will give your pope the excuse he needs to move against me and to enter the Lands. Soon after, the West will try to intercede.”

  “How long until you attack?” Althgar asked.

  “Two days, your holiness.”

  “How soon after do you think it will be safe for the Eastern troops to march on the Prisonlands?”

  “A week, your holiness,” Verkain said, rounding a bend with the bishop and two guards. “That should be enough time for my troops to clear out the last of the exiles and the wardens. It also allows ample time for word to have reached the East about my actions.”

  The king turned another corner, then moved down a stone stairwell. The bishop paused for a moment, looking puzzled, then proceeded to follow with the soldiers behind.

  “I am guessing the Western armies will try to interfere within a month, your holiness,” Verkain said, marching along. “That is when our combined forces will strike back at them.”

  Bishop Althgar paused again as the Kobalan lord turned down another flight of steps that led into the depths of the castle. “I thought you were going to oversee your troops?”

  Verkain motioned for the bishop to follow. “I have a task to perform first. It will not take much of your time.”

  With trepidation in his eyes, the bishop glanced back at the bulky guards blocking his path up the stairs. The two men stared straight ahead, over the bishop’s shoulders. Althgar then followed Verkain down.

  “Our combined forces of might and magic will decimate the Westerners, your holiness,” Verkain said as they came to the bottom of the steps.

  “There is one thing that has puzzled me, Lord Verkain,” Althgar said as they walked down another hall, this one darker than the others with its torches set further apart.

  “Yes, your holiness?”

  “Our nations were enemies during the last war,” Althgar said. “Why now are you working with Pope Joyous III?”

  “I’m not,” Verkain said, suddenly halting before a heavy wooden door.

  The bishop came to a stop, the two guards directly behind him almost bumping into him.

  “I do not understand,” Althgar said.

  “Of course you don’t,” Verkain said, “but I’m not working with your precious pontiff. The conception of the invasion was my doing, not his.”

  Althgar frowned.

  “Your pope believes I am the Dark King of the North,” Verkain explained, “thus he believes I will bring about the return of the almighty Ashal.”

  “That I understand,” the bishop said with a shaky voice.

  “What your pope doesn’t comprehend is that I have taken measures to remove Ashal from the situation,” Verkain said. “I will bring war and terror to the world as prophecy tells, but I will not be defeated by the likes of a wandering holy man returned from the grave.”

  The king hammered on the door with a fist.

  “You’re as mad as they say.”

  “Madder,” Verkain said as the door swung open.

  The bishop stared into a wall of darkness, then two tiny red objects began to glow in the center of all that black.

  “Do not fret, your holiness,” Verkain said. “I will inform the pope you and your retinue fell honorably during the invasion.”

  Althgar turned back to the king, the bishop’s face questioning. He never saw the black, plated claw that snagged him off his feet, yanking him into the dark room.

  The door slammed closed.

  Verkain turned to his guards. “Make sure the mess is removed once the demons are finished.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fortisquo tossed a pair of leather saddle bags onto his bed and went to work stuffing them with clothes and gear.

  A large shadow appeared in the doorway to the sword master’s room. “Going somewhere?”

  Fortisquo jumped back from the bed, the surprise on his face quickly giving way to a look of relief.

  “Now is not the time to run,” Belgad said.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Fortisquo asked. “It’s the talk of all the servants.”

  “The bishop, yes.”

  Fortisquo wen
t back to work filling his saddle bags. “This is more than madness. You can never tell when you’re going to be killed in this place.”

  “I’ve never known you to be afraid of death,” Belgad said.

  Fortisquo allowed a nervous laugh. “There’s not a man alive I fear to cross swords with,” he said, lacing closed his travel bags, “but Verkain ... it’s more than just magic. The man is evil. Death with no purpose, not even monetary gain ... it’s useless, and dangerous.”

  “I agree,” Belgad said with a nod, “but it is not time to run.”

  Fortisquo chuckled again. “Stay if you want. You paid me well, but I never bargained for a war, especially one involving Verkain. Darkbow is not worth all this.”

  “Again, I agree, but if you follow me, I can show you why we should remain.”

  Fortisquo glared at the man. “I’ve made my decision. Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

  “I’m not trying to change your mind,” Belgad said. “I’m merely making you aware of your possibilities of escape.”

  Fortisquo grabbed his saddle bags. “Lead on.”

  Belgad turned and exited with the taller man following. The two made their way along dreary halls, the morning sun shedding weak rays on them through the castle’s high windows as slaves and soldiers alike passed by.

  After several minutes Belgad brought them out upon a terrace that overlooked much of the city and the gray lands beyond its walls. The two stopped at the edge of the battlements and stared outward. Directly below was a narrow street bustling with morning activity, animals and men crossing paths. Further away, outside the city’s front gates, army tents billowed in a gentle breeze; smoke from a hundred camps rose to the sky like a snake charmed, whirling about before disappearing in the clouds. Lines of soldiers in black armor formed near the gates, preparing for their daily training regimen.

  Belgad pointed toward the encamped soldiers. “You would not make it ten miles.”

  “Verkain will be too busy to notice my absence,” Fortisquo said.

  “You believe so?” Belgad asked. “All this time he has seemed uninterested in Kron Darkbow, but rumor is he will bring demons against our foe.”

  “Only because Kron rescued Markwood.”

  “Perhaps,” Belgad said, “but either way, Darkbow has proven a threat to the Lord of Kobalos, and Verkain will not let it pass.”

  “I will take my chances,” Fortisquo said, turning to leave.

  A strong hand gripped the swordsman by the shoulder.

  Fortisquo looked back at Belgad.

  “Wait a few days,” the Dartague said. “Once the march to the Prisonlands begins, Verkain will be truly busy. We can slip away in the night and be in the mountains before our absence is noted.”

  “You are leaving?”

  “I have had enough,” Belgad said. “I’ve wasted too much time and too many resources in the hunt for Darkbow, and the man isn’t likely to survive long if he remains in Kobalos. Besides, I didn’t build an empire in Bond just to let it be wiped away by the likes of Verkain. He’s offered us nothing for our loyalty, thus I see no reason to remain loyal.”

  “You realize the war is inevitable,” Fortisquo said. “You could still lose everything.”

  Belgad nodded again. “You are right. Once the invasion begins, war will be inevitable. The East and West have been slavering at each others’ throats for too long. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take sides.”

  Fortisquo’s eyes widened. “You’re siding with the West.”

  “I’ve already sided with the West,” Belgad said. “I’m a knight of the republic, appointed by the Western pontiff himself. It’s my home now.”

  “Do you go to warn the Council?” Fortisquo asked.

  “I doubt there is a need for a warning,” Belgad said. “I’m sure the Ruling Council already knows what is happening here. They have their scouts and mages.”

  Fortisquo grinned. “It’s not like you to play the hero.”

  Belgad’s reply was a dark glare.

  ***

  Sunlight creeping between a crack in the window shutters woke Kron as it stretched across his face.

  He yawned and rubbed his eyes, then stared about for a moment to remember where he was. The small, dank room offered shelter, but little more. There was no wood for the fireplace, and the dirty bed on which Markwood slept was not fit for vermin. Kron’s own seat, a hard wooden chair with a stiff back, was cracked and dusty. Still, the place was a sanctuary.

  The black-cloaked figure lifted to his feet and stared between the shutter’s cracks. He could make out dark-garbed folk passing by outside, their heads sunk low to their chest as they shuffled along. The front door and windows in the brick building across the street had been opened, and a folding sign set in front of the place proclaimed it to be an apothecary’s shop.

  A rustling from behind caused Kron to turn back to the room. He found a yawning Markwood sitting up on his elbows.

  “You’re awake,” Kron said.

  “I’m alive, thanks to you.” The wizard still looked weak but somewhat rested. “Where are we?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I cast the spell blindly, hoping for a safe haven. My strength was low, so I’m supposing we are still in Mogus Potere.”

  “I believe so,” Kron said. “The people on the street look as cheerful as corpses.”

  The old wizard glanced around the room. “This place is as good as any. Looks abandoned. Was probably someone’s house at one time.”

  Kron pulled a tattered cloak from a peg on a wall and tossed it to the wizard. “Sorry. That’s the best I can offer.”

  Markwood wrapped himself in the coarse cloth, covering his near nakedness and the makeshift bandages on his chest. “I thank you again,” he said, “and for wrapping my wounds.”

  “Thank me when we leave Kobalos with Randall.”

  “Randall?” Markwood said. “Yes, you mentioned him. The boy is dead. Surely you know that.”

  “He came to me in a dream,” Kron said. “I don’t remember everything he said, but something ...”

  “It gave you hope.”

  “Something like that. How did you know?”

  “It’s in your eyes,” Markwood said. “They are not as hard as before.”

  Kron squinted one eye, scowling.

  Markwood chuckled. “That’s the Kron Darkbow I know.”

  “Randall is alive,” Kron said. “I’m sure of it. He told me so.”

  “Wizards can speak through dreams,” Markwood said, “but I’ve never heard of a spellcaster coming back from beyond the grave. As far as I know, only Ashal could have accomplished such a feat, and it’s never been proven whether he was a mage or something else entirely.”

  Kron stared at the old wizard, looking up and down his frail frame. “How much time do you need to heal?”

  “A few days, at least,” Markwood replied. “I could cast now, if needed, but it would drain me again.”

  “Are you sure we’re safe here?”

  “Not even Verkain should find us unless he sends soldiers building to building.”

  “It would be a waste of resources,” Kron said, “but then, he has thousands of soldiers camped outside the city.”

  “I learned much in Verkain’s dungeon,” Markwood said. “He is planning to invade the Prisonlands soon, and Belgad and Fortisquo are with him.”

  Kron looked surprised. “Belgad has thrown in with Verkain? I thought we had lost him. What about the woman wizard?”

  “I didn’t see her.”

  “And the Eastern bishop at the ceremony?”

  “That’s where Verkain’s madness almost appears to be genius,” Markwood said. “This invasion ... the East is part of it. They’re working with Verkain.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. They were enemies in the last war.”

  “That was sixty years ago. Times change, and now Verkain and the pope are working together against the West.”

  “Ve
rkain invades the Lands, then the East sweeps in to restore order,” Kron said. “You’re right. It has its own genius.”

  “The worst part will come when the West interferes,” Markwood said. “The Ruling Council won’t be able not to send forces to the Prisonlands, what with the invasion and the East suddenly on their borders again.”

  “It’ll be a disaster,” Kron said. “The pope’s troops and Verkain’s magic ... the West can probably hold out for a few years, but eventually —”

  “By then the East will be weakened,” Markwood added. “Verkain will be free to work his magic against the pontiff’s forces.”

  Kron shook his head. “Other nations would intervene. Caballerus, Jorsica, perhaps Dartague.”

  “Caballerus has a young king,” Markwood said. “He is not secure enough in his station to act. And the Jorsicans and Dartague? They’re mighty warriors, true, but it’s difficult for even the fiercest chieftain to keep the clans united for any amount of time.”

  “In a matter of years Verkain will have free rein. Can it be that simple?”

  “I would guess Verkain has been planning this for some time.”

  “There has to be something we can do.”

  “A direct assault on Verkain by the two of us would be suicide,” Markwood said, “even once I’m in better health. I only confronted him at the castle because I was hoping to surprise him, then whisk Randall away.”

  “Could you get help from Bond?”

  “I could,” Markwood said, “but if I returned to Kobalos with wizards bent on slaying Verkain, it would be seen as an assassination attempt against a sovereign lord. It would still mean war, if not with Kobalos then with the East.”

  Kron nodded agreement.

  “However, your dream of Randall has sparked my interest, and my hope,” Markwood said. “Tell me more.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Kron said. “I was exhausted and passed out on the cliffs by the sea. Randall came to me, but I remember little of his words.”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  “He said something about coming face to face with Creation,” Kron said. “Then he told me he could return, but he needed rest. He told me to help you escape.”