Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2)

by E. Michael Mettille

  Havenstahl came into view as they crested the hill. Maelich didn’t let up. Their charge into the valley would be fast and short. As they approached its floor, the air around them became cool as the sun darkened in the sky. Maelich pulled up on Validus’s reigns and Cialia followed suit. A swirling mist appeared before them. It seemed to have no origin, materializing from the air. Where there was nothing, something suddenly filled the space. Both Maelich and Cialia drew their swords. Spooked, Validus and Purity stomped about. They all watched as three cloaked men formed out of the receding mist.

  Cialia’s eyes widened until they were big and round like two moons, “It was no hallucination. Ymitoth spoke the truth.”

  Maelich’s mind raced through explanation after explanation, but could find none other than Kallum still lived. Coeptus had said a god could not be killed, merely scattered. It appeared Kallum had managed to pull himself together. Maelich wasted no time. He let the fire come. Deep, blazing red filled his eyes as flames began swirling around his hands and forearms. At the same time, a perfect circle of flame surrounded the three cloaked men and licked up toward the sky. The most ambitious of those flames stretched up as high as their heads. Maelich had learned a thing or two about the art of controlling Dragon’s fire since his last meeting with Kallum.

  Maelich’s voice remained completely calm as he addressed the three. “Show your faces and state your business or suffer the fury of my flame.”

  The leader of the three removed his hood, but the other two remained motionless. It was just as it had been when first Maelich faced them. A wild mop of orange hair crowned the leader’s head. An even wilder, orange mange of a beard squatted across his face. His eyes were black and dead, and his sneer a thousand years of death. He showed no expression—save the wild sneer—as he reached his hand out into the encircling flame and allowed it to blacken and burn. It melted and then dripped from glistening muscles and tendons that also burned in the heat of Maelich’s flame. Still, his expression remained unchanged. Even when the meat dripped off the bone, he didn’t flinch. He slowly pulled his hand back and held it up for Maelich and Cialia to see. Glistening bone as white as Coeptus’s robe reflected the smoke-filtered sunshine. Immediately, meat, tendons, and skin began to grow back. Within moments, there was no evidence of a burn of any sort. The monster’s hand and arm appeared completely unscathed.

  The smell of the dead-eyed man’s flesh was still strong in the air as Maelich clenched his teeth and coaxed his flames to burn hotter, “State your business.”

  The leader spoke calmly and with great power, “You have become quite the master of your art, Maelich. You could burn all of Ouloos into oblivion, yet you could not kill me. Does that frighten you?”

  “I fear nothing,” Maelich’s teeth remained tightly clenched, “especially a coward hiding behind soulless corpses. This world no longer belongs to you. I am the guardian of this place, and I will let nothing destroy it. Your reign ended when I bested you above the Lost Forest. You are nothing but a memory now, a bad dream this world once had.”

  The leader of the three continued to glare at Maelich with black, dead eyes, the kind of piercing stare that stabs right through the soul, “You belong to me Maelich. Your soul, your strength, and your power, they are all mine. Sadly, you are too wild for me to control at this point. You are a rebellious child, and you will pay for your insolence in time. For now, there is another child I want. Because you belong to me, he belongs to me.”

  “My child, you threaten the life of my unborn child?”

  The flames grew brighter and hotter as the circle closed in on the dead-eyed men. Maelich’s growing fury slowly took control of him. “Never,” he hissed. “You will never lay your dead hands on my child’s pure soul. I will destroy this entire universe, rip the sun from the sky, and crack the crust of Ouloos before I let that happen.”

  Maelich nearly lost control of his flame before feeling Cialia’s presence in his mind. Though he sensed she was a victim of the same rage, she maintained control while his slipped away. The flames circling his forearms had spread the rest of the way up his arms and around his chest. Had Cialia not forced her way into his consciousness, he might have ended up standing above the ashes of his dead horse rather than seated upon it. Instead, with her assistance, his flame eased a bit.

  The leader goaded Maelich, “Watch that temper son, lest those flames consume you. In five days, your bride will give birth to a son, my son. I will come for him then, Maelich. He will be more powerful than you could ever imagine. He will make your silly little tricks with fire seem just that, silly, little, fire tricks. He will rule this world by my side and be the son you should have been. You and your strong will. Pay heed, Maelich. It will be the end of you.”

  Maelich’s reply had only made it to the back of his throat before the three vanished in the same mist that brought them. A few moments—and several deep breaths—later, his flame slowly diminished and eventually subsided. He placed his hand to his chest and sighed deeply. The thick smell of burning flesh still lingered. He shook his head. Could Kallum still live? He must. The scattered god’s priests still haunted Ouloos.

  Maelich’s voice was just a hair more than a whisper as he reached out for Cialia’s hand and said, “He said I am to have a son, his son.”

  Cialia shook her head, “He toys with you, Maelich. His words stab you where you are weakest. He exploits your emotion.” She paused, “Do not let him have that control over you. Your emotions are your only disadvantage against him.”

  “Thank you for standing by me,” Maelich whispered. “Thank you for helping me control the fire. My rage was getting the best of me.” He paused and ran a hand through his golden hair, “How can he still live?”

  Cialia shook her head, “I do not know. He certainly still lives though. You must teach me the art of Dragon’s fire. The book is finished. You saw the way the priest toyed with your flame. You cannot do this alone.”

  Maelich stared far past Cialia, “I know. It is time. But first we must tend to Ymitoth and prepare ourselves for Kallum’s return.” His stare remained far off, “I must try to speak with Coeptus.”

  She placed her hand on his wrist, “Do not fear. We will not let him take your son. All of Havenstahl will fight by your side. You know this.” Patting his hand, she added, “Come, let us prepare.”

  The sun had returned to its normal brilliance once the three had departed. Maelich squinted as the world grew brighter and brighter around him. Kallum’s priests seemed more powerful than they had ever been. They darkened the sky. Doubt clouded his head as he and Cialia charged up the hill to Havenstahl, eager to swallow up the last bit of their journey.

  The sun was still in the sky when they reached the gates of the city. Maelich’s flesh pulled up into tight bumps. Entering the city gates invigorated him almost as much as exiting them would have eighteen summers prior. The few days he had been away felt more like years.

  A crowd began to gather as Maelich and Cialia moved through the streets of the city. People seeking blessings and guidance from their savior crowded the path. Maelich tugged on Validus’s reigns and brought the steed to rest among them. Then he raised his hands to them, palms out.

  “Havenstahl,” he began, “raise your eyes up from your troubles. Fix your gaze on the Lake, the great power that bore you into this world and ever beckons you home. Give your worries to the Dragon and heed her call as she guides you back to the warm embrace of the waters she protects.”

  He would have continued the blessing, but Cialia intervened, “My brother, how can you heal the souls of the masses when your soul is in such dire need of healing itself? Go to your father and leave the tending of the flock to me.”

  The weary and troubled prince smiled at his sister, “Thank you.”

  Cialia quickly hopped from Purity’s back and worked her way into the crowd, touching and blessing people as she passed them. She drew them to her and guided them away from Maelich toward a fountain. Once satisfied
she had their complete attention, she began to preach. The air lightened around the crowd as she gently lifted the weight of their worries off of their heads. In moments, she had them well in hand while Maelich escaped unnoticed.

  chapter 3

  goodbye

  Hagen waited impatiently for Maelich’s arrival. His arms folded tightly across his chest as his foot nervously tapped the floor. Death was in the air. Ymitoth still lived but only barely. Hagen was losing his battle with death for the king’s life, and the heir to the throne had duties far greater than ruling over a city of men. On top of that, his patient’s attackers seemed to be no less than heralds of a dead god. Hagen still had yet to wrap his mind around that. Kallum’s priests were merely corpses the god reanimated to do his bidding. Once he was scattered, those corpses should have collapsed and begun a natural process of decomposition. Somehow, Kallum must have survived his battle with Maelich. It was the only possible explanation.

  Maelich hit the top of the stair fighting to catch his breath. He managed to choke a few words out between his labored breaths, “How…is he? Am I…too late?”

  Hagen shook his head while his eyes rolled toward the ceiling, Maelich’s condition momentarily interrupting his concern for Ymitoth’s state. The lad of the Lake did much to frustrate the old healer, “Tsk, tsk. After all you have seen and done, you are still much of a man.”

  Maelich’s breath still came in heavy, rapid gasps, but he was slowly gaining control of it. After drawing a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a moment, and releasing it in a long sigh, he calmly continued, “Forgive me, Hagen. What is my father’s condition?”

  The healer ignored the question and continued his critique of Maelich’s disheveled state, “At times it seems when you most need your power you forget what great power you wield. You could run from sea to sea as fast as a horse without exerting the least bit of energy. Yet, add a bit of concern to your mind and climbing a stairwell has you at the edge of consciousness. Why is that? You are the master of your surroundings. Why in instances such as these do you pretend to be only a man?”

  Maelich shrugged, “I do not know, and I do not care much right at this moment. All that concerns me is my father’s condition. Please, if you have a mind to lecture, save it for later. Your lesson will be lost on me if you deliver it now.”

  “Yes, I suppose it will,” Hagen sighed. “Well,” he absently scratched the top of his head with his left hand as he grimaced and looked to the ground, perhaps hoping the right words might be carved in the stone there, “he still lives.”

  Maelich heaved a sigh of relief as he clutched his chest with his left hand and his chin with his right. Then he stroked his chin with his middle finger and thumb while nervously chewing at the side of his index finger for a moment, “Thank Coeptus for that. Is he awake?”

  Hagen looked back to the floor, this time rubbing the back of his neck. His eyebrows rose as he continued his search for compassionate words, “Listen Maelich, I am not quite sure how to say this gently so I will just say it. I pray you can accept what I am about to tell you. Everything I can do has been done. I have toiled over him and filled him with my most powerful elixirs. The fight is his now. Yes he still lives, but only barely.”

  Maelich set his jaw tight as his entire face seemed to squint. He stared at Hagen with misty eyes, looking as if the old man had just slapped him across the face, “You sound as if you have given up. My father is strong, perhaps the strongest man I know. Surely he can survive a beating, even one as severe as Kallum’s priests could deliver.” Maelich’s tone pleaded with Hagen as if he could lobby a change of the prognosis. He paused—quietly staring at the old healer for a moment—and then added, “With your help, I mean.”

  Hagen slumped, walked over to Maelich, draped his right arm across his shoulders, and pulled him close, “Maelich, Ymitoth was battered when they brought him to me. He was delirious, completely incoherent. His consciousness fled almost immediately. I cannot tell you how much blood he lost, but I can say it was more than enough to kill most men.”

  “No,” Maelich shook his head and backed away from Hagen. “You are wrong.”

  “Maelich, his limbs and most of his ribs were shattered. His skull was cracked open. He bled from every hole in his head. Deep bruises cover his entire body. It is a miracle he still lives at all.”

  “Shut up,” Maelich sobbed, absently wiping tears from his cheeks before pulling at his running nose. “Shut up. You are wrong,” he repeated.

  Hagen’s eyes misted over as he watched Maelich break down. The words had to be said though. Not one to spread false hope, the old healer continued, “I do not want to tell you this anymore than you want to hear it, but the truth is the truth. You must be prepared for it. I do not believe Ymitoth is going to live. If he does, you will probably not recognize him, not his face or his mind.”

  “No!” Maelich shouted. His eyes flashed red as the fire grew inside of him, “Shut your old, stupid mouth! You know nothing! My father knows no equal in battle. He has cut down hordes of men and beasts. Surely you are mistaken. Perhaps your friendship with him has clouded your judgment.”

  “I wish it were so, my friend,” Hagen slowly shook his head. “I wish it were so.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “I wanted you to, but now I do not believe it is a good idea. You are already very upset. Seeing him in his current condition will only serve to upset you further. Besides, he needs his rest.”

  Maelich had purpose in his steps as he pushed past Hagen to the door. The old healer grabbed at his sleeve and spun him around.

  “Maelich, please,” he pleaded. “You do not want to see him like this. All of those things you said about him are true. He was a great warrior, a hero among men. That is how you should remember him. The lump of dying flesh lying on the bed in there does not resemble the hero you just described. Believe me; you do not want that vision clouding your memories of him.”

  Hagen saw the fire burning in Maelich’s eyes. There were no words, just a long, uncomfortable silence accompanied by squinted, burning eyes. The old healer trembled. That fiery stare could have burned a hole through stone. It was so full of anger and hate. Hagen stepped aside, slumped to the ground, dropped his head into his hands, and wept.

  “I am sorry, Maelich,” Hagen cried into his hands. “I have done all I can for him.”

  Maelich pushed the door to Ymitoth’s room open and hurried inside. An acrid stench of stale blood saturated the air, mingling with the sharp sting of Hagen’s medicines. The combination smelled like death. He gathered himself and walked over to the bed. Hagen’s description had been mostly accurate, if not a shade tamer than reality. Ymitoth’s skull had been crushed. It was wrapped in bandages, but the shape was all wrong. His face was the only part of his body completely exposed, and it was purple and swollen. The rest of him was a lump under the blankets that seemed far smaller than it should have been. Hagen had been correct. The poor, battered man occupying the bed bared little resemblance to Ymitoth.

  An idea tore through Maelich’s head like an arrow fired from a tightly strung bow. Hagen was wrong. This tiny, dying man was not Ymitoth at all. It was some other poor bloke who had gotten himself in the way of some creatures that were much too much for him to handle. Ymitoth must still be out on the trail. Thanks be to Coeptus. Maelich sighed. He had gotten himself all worked up over nothing. The idea that the battered lump of flesh lying in the bed was somebody other than Ymitoth had all but anchored itself in Maelich’s head by the time Hagen quietly entered the room.

  Words dribbled from Maelich’s lips before he could stop them, “Is this really my father?”

  “It is,” Hagen responded somberly with tears still streaming from his eyes. “Go ahead and say something to him. Time is no friend of his now, and this may be your last chance.”

  Tears flooded down Maelich’s face again as he asked, “Can he hear me?”

  “I do not know. I think if you believe he ca
n, then he can.”

  “What should I say?”

  Hagen smiled slightly through his tears, “Whatever you want to say. Perhaps something he can hang on to until he makes his final journey home.”

  Maelich went to Ymitoth and kissed his cheek. Then he leaned in close and whispered, “I love you father. I am sorry.” Heavy sobs took him. Burying his head into his father’s chest, he continued, “I am sorry I was not there to fight those demons by your side. I am sorry I brought the wrath of those beasts down upon you. To them, you suffer so I might suffer. I am to blame for this.” He sobbed silently for a bit. With his ear pressed against Ymitoth’s chest, he could hear the faint, shallow breaths his father labored so hard to take. Maelich sat up, “You are still fighting. You are the bravest man I will ever know.”

  Suddenly, Hagen gasped. The startling sound prompted Maelich to raise his head off Ymitoth’s chest. When he did, his father’s eyes stared back at him. Maelich knew there was no way the king should have ever again seen consciousness. Yet there he lay with eyes wide open.

  As Maelich gazed down on him, the battered king looked up and whispered, “Don’t be blaming yourself, lad. Had I the chance to have another go at me life, I’d not be changing a thing. Sure I love ye, son. Don’t ye be forgetting that on me.”

  Words escaped Maelich as he stared into his father’s eyes and watched them slowly cloud over. Maelich’s face contorted as his eyes began stinging once again. Shaking his head he shouted, “No!” Phlegm flew past his lips and he shouted again and again, “No! No! No!” He grabbed Ymitoth and pulled him close, hugging the lifeless body and wailing like a starving babe.

  A lifetime of memories flashed through Maelich’s head as he held his father’s limp form. Throughout his childhood, Ymitoth had played the stern mentor. Everything was training and working and reading the book that had proven to be such a lie. The day his training had ended was the first time he saw the softer side of the man he called father. That day had been such a great celebration. Ymitoth was so proud, almost as proud as he was at Maelich’s ceremony of the crest. Ymitoth had said many times that was the proudest moment of his life.