Into the Madness

by Richard H. Stephens

  Alhena frowned at him and snapped, “How would I know that?”

  Silurian bit right back, “Because you’re a wizard!”

  Alhena didn’t respond any further. He clumped along quietly, his staff glowing softly.

  Silurian fumed. It wasn’t Alhena’s fault. The closer they got to Helleden the edgier everyone was becoming. Still, he couldn’t help but glare at the man he thought he had known.

  A cold gust snuck inside his cloak, making him shiver. He felt the semblance of warmth emitted by Alhena’s staff but he refused to ask to share it. The giants and the archers were doing without. So would he.

  He recalled the last time he’d travelled this way with Prince Malcolm to quell a peasant revolt at Storms End. His mind ground to a halt. What of the king?

  “What about King Malcolm? We were through the castle a while back but he isn’t there.”

  Alhena stiffened. The giants’ gait missed a step, and the archers’ conversation ceased.

  The reactions of everyone around him wasn’t lost on Silurian. They knew something he didn’t. Panic snuck into his tone. “What is it? Where’s Malcolm?”

  The group stopped as one and gathered around him.

  Melody glowered at them. Without a word she stood beside Silurian and placed a hand on his forearm.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Alhena said, his tone ominous.

  Silurian knew at once the king was dead, but he needed to hear it, as if that would negate the answer.

  Alhena related the story of the Chamber of the Wise debacle, sparing no detail of their imprisonment or Chambermaster Uzziah’s treachery. The mention of the Sentinel was profoundly troubling, but when Alhena confirmed the beast had killed the king, the last vestiges of Silurian’s sanity slipped away.

  Malcolm had epitomized everything good in the world. He had challenged the tenets that governed a supreme leader’s actions. Malcolm chose to rule with unfounded compassion toward every single one of his citizens. In his eyes, no peasant was too low, nor any beggar too insignificant to bend his ear. From the king’s champion to the hardworking serf, to the drunkard who had let life get the better of them, every man, woman and child deserved the kingdom’s aid, and more importantly in Malcolm’s eyes, their ruler’s utmost devotion. They were his people. The citizens of Zephyr owed their fealty not to Malcolm Alexander Svelte the king, but to Malcolm, the man—their friend and most devout servant.

  Silurian never heard anything else Alhena said. Rook was dead and Melody floundered. Hearing Alhena affirm the death of the one man capable of raising Zephyr from the ashes extinguished the last vestiges of life from his soul.

  He staggered away. The people gathered around him ceased to exist as far as he was concerned. Hands reached out to him, fingers brushing his arms and shoulders, but he shrugged them away.

  His entire psyche collapsed into the dark abyss of his tortured mind. He welcomed his old desires—their comforting pall. He had fought against their yearning for much too long. It felt good to give into despair. Twenty-four years of denial gone in the few heartbeats it took for him to realize his folly. It was time he entertained the only thing that mattered anymore. Vengeance.

  Aware of the voices chasing after him, their words jumbled together as senseless, meaningless drivel.

  His feet churned rhythmically beneath him. His arms pumped in unison to propel him up the pass toward the destiny he had denied himself for decades—Saint Carmichael’s Blade shone brightly, infusing him with abnormal strength as he charged toward his fate.

  At one point he became aware of a red-bearded brute throwing his arms out to intercept him. A well-placed sword hilt eliminated the annoyance.

  The sun slipped behind the peaks ahead, covering the land in darkness.

  As he ran headlong through the mountain pass, he experienced a euphoria he’d kept tethered for many long years. Driven by his deepest desire, he ran into the madness.

  Inner Demon

  Sadyra knelt in a snow drift, cradling Karvus’ head under one arm while gently slapping his face. The Kraidic emperor sported a nasty bruise on his left temple. When she first found him, she feared him dead.

  She bit her lower lip, hoping the others would catch up soon. Everything had happened so fast. They were marching along as quickly as they dared without burning themselves out and then Silurian had pulled his sword over his back, its blade glowing brightly against the evening shadow. The next thing she knew, he charged ahead, leaving everyone behind.

  Alhena and Melody shouted after him but he never looked back. As a group, they bounded after his rapidly diminishing form but it wasn’t long before he outpaced them and was out of sight. Melody attributed his speed to the strength he drew from his sword.

  Sadyra didn’t know what to think, but even she couldn’t keep up. There weren’t many people, man or woman, who could run faster than her and she’d never come across anyone able to outdistance her—at least until she’d met Karvus.

  Her mind drifted to their destination. Fishmonger Bay. Her hometown. A place she had vowed to never return to. Just the thought of the place made her shiver. She tried to contain her whirling emotions. Now wasn’t the time. There were more important things to worry about. One of them lay unconscious before her.

  She examined the ground around where he lay, finding no evidence of a struggle. He hadn’t even drawn his weapons. She glanced up at the heights, their edges darker than the night sky. Perhaps a falling rock had struck him.

  She pulled off her archer’s cap and laid it under his head to keep him off the snow. She briefly thought of moving the large man, but there was no way. He had to be three times her weight.

  “Sadyra!” Pollard’s voice sounded from far away, echoing off the heights. She allowed herself a moment of relief. At least they would be here soon.

  Nighttime in the mountains was a scary place, especially this far north. Man-eating predators stalked the heights after dark; the worst of which were trolls.

  She squinted at the dark shapes dotting the steep hills paralleling the path. Anything might be hiding up there and she’d never know of their presence until—

  “There you are!” Pollard ran up to her, his sudden appearance causing her to yelp in fright.

  She slugged him beneath his cuirass as hard as she could. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

  He hugged her close, her punch not bothering him a bit. “Don’t you run off like that again, you hear me?”

  She cradled the hand she used to punch him in her other hand. “Not my fault you’re slow.”

  “We ran as fast as our slowest member,” he said with a haughty voice as he knelt to inspect Karvus. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know. I found him this way.”

  Pollard straightened and withdrew his sword, looking around.

  “Sadie! Pollard!” Olmar’s booming voice echoed in the distance.

  “Stay with Karvus, I’ll let them know we’re here. Don’t want Lunkhead causing an avalanche,” Sadyra tapped his cuirass with the hilt of her dagger. “Or the wizards searing us.”

  Melody knelt by Karvus, softly speaking to him. She stood and whispered to Alhena. “He says Silurian coldcocked him on his way by.”

  Alhena looked grim. “It is worse than I feared. If we do not get to him before Helleden, we are all in trouble.”

  “Is ‘e gonna be okay?” Olmar asked from across the fire Alhena built while Melody worked on Karvus.

  “He will have quite the headache,” Alhena answered.

  “Who did this to ‘im? I ain’t be seein’ signs of fightin’.”

  Alhena shrugged and walked away.

  Melody forced a smile for Olmar. “He’ll be fine. He just needs a bit of rest. Go and see if you can get us more wood.”

  Olmar glanced at the huge pile stacked beside the fire and scratched his head. “Okay, Miss Melody.”

  Melody sighed and knelt beside Karvus again. It did her good to have something to concentrate on ot
her than Rook or Silurian, though neither were far from her thoughts.

  She inspected the welt. In the poor light of the fire, it was tough to tell whether her healing made any difference. “Is it easing off?”

  Karvus rose to his elbows and tilted his head to one side and then the other. “My vision isn’t as blurry. What did he hit me with?”

  “I can only guess it had something to do with the earth blood magic in his sword.”

  “If I’d known he was going to do that, I would have killed you two while I had the chance.”

  Melody pulled back.

  He smiled. A rare sight from the Kraidic Emperor. “I’m kidding.”

  She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. She stood and gazed westward, down the path disappearing into the darkness. Silurian was out there somewhere. Chasing a sorcerer and quite possibly a dragon. She didn’t have time to waste tending Karvus.

  Silurian’s actions had somehow served to pull her out of the funk she had let herself fall into. Knowing he needed her now more than ever brought clarity to her thinking. Though the heaviness in her heart still made her sick to her stomach, her focus was on saving her brother from himself.

  She sought out Alhena. “I can’t stay here. I need to find him before it’s too late.”

  Alhena got up from the campfire and pulled her aside. “You can’t face Helleden on your own.”

  “I don’t plan on it. I need to stop Silurian until the rest of you catch up.”

  “I fear there may be nothing you can do to dissuade him from the path he travels. He is beyond reason.”

  Melody bit back an angry retort. “I have to try. He’s my brother. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do everything within my power to save him.”

  “You are not trained for magical combat. That is one regret I carry. I never took the time to put you in harm’s way.”

  Melody blinked several times digesting his words. If only he knew what she and Silurian had endured over the last few months. She’d never had a chance to tell Alhena of her and Silurian’s trials since leaving Dragon’s Tooth.

  She swallowed hard. If she were to be any use to Silurian, she must pack up her grief and stow it away for another day. She needed to slay her inner demon. Silurian’s life depended on it.

  “Phazarus,” she started, deliberately using Alhena’s real name. “Trust me when I tell you I’ve seen my share of trouble. I’m ready for whatever awaits us at the Summoning Stone.”

  Alhena raised skeptical eyebrows.

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid. I’m scared stiff. Not for myself or my ability to use what you’ve taught me. I’m afraid it won’t be enough. I know who we’re up against.”

  “And if he has a dragon?”

  She looked away and then back again. “Then he has a dragon. I will deal with it as best I can. What else can I do?”

  Alhena stared long and hard.

  Shivers wracked her slight frame. She wasn’t sure they were a result of the biting wind. Her staff flared, infusing her with warmth.

  “You are stronger than you think. No matter what people might say, you are the true Wizard of the North. Never doubt that.” Alhena tipped his head toward where Pollard and Sadyra sat close together staving off the weather. “Take Sadyra and go. We will be along as fast as we can.”

  Melody smiled. The pall of darkness threatening to smother her soul lightened, just a bit. Enough to rekindle her spark. It was now up to her to fan that spark back to life.

  Obsidian Nightmare

  Waves pounded the jagged rocks far below the granite promontory Helleden Misenthorpe stood atop; his arms spread over his head as he commanded roiling grey storm clouds. Ghastly tendrils of magic coalesced between his palms in a ruby sphere of power. The arcane ritual illuminated the flat promontory of the Summoning Stone with shades of blood in the black night.

  A demon towered in front of him, steadfastly holding open an ancient tome, its long claws clasping the pages lest the wind tear them away.

  The power Helleden channelled far exceeded any spell he’d cast outside of a controlled environment. A mispronunciation might render instant death to anyone close to the spell’s origin.

  Scouts had informed him the meddlesome wizards and their pitiful gang were well into The Spine, somewhere between Storms End and Thunderhead.

  One man had run on ahead, holding aloft a glowing blue sword. That would be the slime rat, Silurian Mintaka, he was sure of it. The latest report had him a few leagues on the other side of Fishmonger Bay. That was a while ago.

  Helleden laughed maniacally as the forces he controlled sucked power from the atmosphere around the Summoning Stone. By the time Silurian arrived, it would be too late.

  The sorcerer’s hand-picked minions stood around the edge of the promontory holding the magical, metal cable they’d constructed at Castle Svelte. Once applied, the collar would amplify his psionic ability, and he would gain mastery over the ancient dragon.

  Lightning burst from the low clouds in jagged arcs. A bolt connected with the cliff overlooking the promontory, discharging a shower of sparks and loosing a house-sized chunk of rock. The slab fell to the edge of the Summoning Stone, smashing an unlucky demon standing guard. Those holding the collar witnessed the gruesome sight but not one of them shirked their duty—being squished by a ton of rock was better than any fate they would face if they disobeyed Helleden.

  Rain driven by the wind wet Helleden’s face as the violent storm he wove increased in intensity. If it became much worse, he fleetingly feared he and his minions might be swept away. As powerful as his magic was, it paled in comparison to the elements he’d called forth.

  A presence filled him, angrily resisting his contact. A large green eye formed within the darkest of the storm clouds, glaring down at him.

  He never wavered. Intoning the runic script on the sodden page held before him, he threw his entire being into the spell, absorbing the alien presence—demanding it succumb to the ritual.

  The Summoning Stone shook beneath his feet—the tremor having nothing to do with the waves slamming the face of the cliff. Euphoria filled him as the realization of what he had accomplished set in. He had tapped into an ancient magic and bridged the gap between himself and the magic of the dragon.

  The overwhelming emotion of the dragon’s presence filled him. The creature’s confusion inspired Helleden to strengthen his hold on the link. He chanted the phrase he had learned from the tome, one he had practised exhaustingly since setting foot outside of the Wizard’s Spike on his journey to this spot. He intoned the last verse of the spell—the most dangerous part of the ritual. To slip up now would be disastrous.

  The presence became agitated. It fought back, resisting Helleden’s call. He staggered under the strain, coming close to tripping over the cable into the crashing surf below. He was losing it.

  The demon holding the book grasped his robe by the sleeve and helped him back into the centre of the promontory.

  The mountainside trembled. Boulders and slivers of rock dislodged themselves from above, impacting the Summoning Stone with earthshattering vibrations.

  Another collar holder vanished. One moment the red beast stood on the edge of the promontory, the next instant he was gone—a wedge-shaped chunk of mountain rock shook the Summoning Stone before it tipped over the precipice and fell from view.

  The remaining demons held their ground, preventing the collar from plunging into the raging sea.

  “Hold fast!” Helleden shouted, his words lost to the storm. His minions crouched low, sidestepping falling rock and doing their best to avoid being swept off the exposed promontory into the ocean swells.

  Shock filled the presence. Helleden dared to smile. He had it within his grasp. He had no way of knowing whether the Summoning Stone and everyone still clinging to it could survive much more, but he increased the power at his command, drawing off the magic of the beast he sought to bring forth.

  The clouds brightened with an
ominous glow. A cyclonic black vortex formed overhead.

  “Yes! Come to me!” Helleden screamed deliriously, his sodden black hair whipping about his face. The ruby sphere shot from his hands into the roiling mass. “You are mine!”

  A blinding light accompanied by a deafening thunderbolt obliterated the atmosphere overhead, throwing everyone to the ground and sending two more demons to their death.

  Helleden lay in a clump of tangled robes. He tossed the folds aside and gazed skyward, barely believing the glorious sight hovering above the promontory.

  Bigger than a house, its great wings churning the clouds, a black dragon searched for him. It located the Summoning Stone and descended, emitting an ear-piercing shriek—emerald eyes glowing brightly in the dark sky.

  The enormous beast scanned the Summoning Stone and locked on to the source of its bidding. It craned its horned head, opening a mouth large enough to swallow a giant.

  Helleden grasped the lapel of his cloak and pulled it over his head, ducking to hide behind the enchanted garment.

  The dragon’s breath scoured the stone he cowered upon, the heat so intense he feared he might melt.

  A wave of air followed on the heels of the dragon fire, the beast’s great wings keeping it hovering just above the surface.

  Helleden peered out in time to see the dragon’s head jerk sideways and crash to the ground, the magical cable around its neck. The demon who had devoutly held aloft the tome lay in a twisted, blackened heap. Flames devoured the thick tome near its smoking corpse.

  The dragon righted itself and thrashed its head back and forth. The demons hanging onto the leash refused to release their grip and were yanked from their feet—several of them slipped over the edge, flailing helplessly into the bone-crushing surf below.

  Three demons remained on the rock. They ran at the dragon, trying to regain control of the cable whipping about the fearsome creature.

  Helleden shielded his eyes as the dragon opened its mouth to spew a deadly torrent of fire, engulfing his minions. He didn’t have much time. Rising to his feet, he spread his hands wide, incanting his psionic spell.