“Let him through,” Karvus ordered, indicating Helleden, “but that thing remains outside.”
Helleden stared at Karvus. His bloodshot eyes flicked to the Sentinel. He spoke something unintelligible to the monstrosity, and then nodded to Karvus. The ranks of Kraidic warriors parted to allow him passage, their eyes panning between the sorcerer and the Sentinel.
Karvus turned and ducked back into his tent, not bothering to hold the flap open. He walked several paces into the pavilion’s warm interior and spun around next to his hounds. Both dogs strained at the end of their chain, frothing at the mouth as Helleden entered. Karvus shouted a command and they obediently stopped barking and sat, a low menacing growl sounding through bared teeth.
Tygra stood inside the entrance, heavy maul in hand.
Faux stood behind the emperor’s pallet, against the far side of the tent, trying to blend into the scenery.
“What do you want?” Karvus demanded. “Why are the armies still sitting here?”
The sorcerer regarded him quietly. He had to have been aware of Tygra’s presence, but he never gave the man a second glance. Instead, he walked over to Karvus’ chair and sat down.
Karvus’ lips twitched, but he bit back the words his mind screamed at him to say. Just.
Helleden’s expressionless face looked up. “I have changed my mind.”
Karvus tensed, frowning at the implications of that statement.
Tygra took a step toward them, but Karvus gave him a subtle head shake.
“Changed your mind? You mean you don’t want my army anymore?”
“Oh, I still need your army. In fact, my scouts inform me that more of Zephyr’s forces survived than I believed possible.”
“You mean you made a mistake? I find that hard to believe.” Karvus’ words dripped with sarcasm.
Helleden tilted his head to one side. “Don’t fret, emperor. I never make the same mistake twice.”
Karvus fumed. Was that a threat?
“I told your father, before his,” Helleden paused as if lost for a way to say what he was thinking, “unfortunate decision, if you will, that I no longer required his service.”
“Unfortunate decision! You had him killed. Why, I ought to—”
“Not follow in your father’s footsteps.” Helleden interrupted. “His dogs attacked my pet. The Sentinel defended itself. Your men’s hounds are responsible for the death of Krakus the Kraken. In fact, there are many who can bear witness that it was actually your axe that finished the job. It would be interesting to hear how the rest of the Kraken family receives that information, hmm?”
Karvus’ hands clenched and unclenched the haft of his battle-axe. One fell swoop of his weapon and he’d be rid of the troublesome little man. The thought of the Sentinel wandering about on the other side of the tent walls stayed his hand. Was it fear he felt? He fumed even more at that thought. It was his perceived image of his father’s weakness that had prompted him to engage himself into the dybbuk hound frenzy and deliver the stroke that had indeed killed the Emperor of the Kraidic Empire. None of the warriors present would dare say Karvus’ actions were anything but an attempt to save his dying father, but anyone present would have clearly seen Karvus’ renowned battle-axe bury itself in Krakus’ thick skull.
Helleden lifted his eyebrows twice. “Fear not. One would have to be insane to question the motives of an emperor. In fact, it’s because of your actions that I have reconsidered my position regarding your usefulness.”
Tygra Keen started toward them.
Helleden’s eyes flicked to Tygra, but his calm demeanour remained focused on Karvus. “If your lackey comes any closer, you’ll find yourself in need of a new aide.”
Tygra stopped, awaiting his emperor’s command.
Karvus glared at Tygra. He was of a mind to call Helleden’s bluff. As dangerous as everyone thought the sorcerer was, Karvus knew without a doubt that Tygra Keen would engage Helleden without hesitation should he be ordered to do so. Karvus loathed the thought of playing with Tygra’s life. The man provided an invaluable service.
“Stand down, Keen,” Karvus snarled.
Tygra didn’t advance any farther, but neither did he back off.
Helleden turned his attention back to Karvus. “I have a special plan for you.”
Karvus’ chest falls became more exaggerated.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the Wizard of the North.”
Karvus wasn’t sure whether that was meant as a statement or a question, but he refused to respond either way.
“Of course, you are,” Helleden continued. “Your people persecuted the Wizard Order at Arcanium. By doing so, the Kraidic Empire effectively exterminated all forms of magic on this side of the world. Unfortunately, your people never finished the job. They allowed one to slip into the wilderness, all those years ago.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Everything. You are now the emperor. It has come to my attention that the Wizard of the North has come down from Dragon’s Tooth.”
“So?”
“So? The Wizard of the North never leaves his aerie. It is his bastion. Only upon the summit of Dragon’s Tooth is he able to defend himself from lecherous tyrants like your father.” Helleden paused, but Karvus refused to be goaded.
“If the Wizard of the North feels the need to abandon his sanctuary, it can only mean one thing.” Helleden stood up and stared into Karvus’ green eyes. “He’s coming for me.”
“Excellent. As emperor of the Kraidic Empire, I grant him amnesty, and wish him well in his endeavour.” Karvus had had enough of the vile sorcerer’s smugness. He gained a slight sense of satisfaction seeing his words affect the unflappable man.
Helleden’s eyes hardened. His many rings sparkled in the torchlight as his fingers twitched. He pursed his lips, as if about to offer a cutting retort, but he remained quiet.
Karvus stared into Helleden’s eyes, not blinking. It was all he could do not to swallow.
Helleden broke the silence. “Those are strange words coming from the man who is going to kill him.”
Karvus laughed. “Me? Kill the Wizard of the North? I find that highly unlikely.”
“Nonetheless,” Helleden said, as he walked past the flabbergasted emperor, “that is my order. My commanders will take control of your army. All you need to concern yourself with are your preparations to leave on the morrow.”
Helleden didn’t even look at Tygra as he passed the man. He stopped at the tent flap and turned to the red-faced emperor. “Do not fail me in this, Karvus the Kraken. Bring me the wizard’s staff.”
Karvus was so incensed, he sputtered, “And just how do you expect me to find this Wizard of the North?”
“My finest tracker will be at your disposal.” Helleden gave him the briefest of smiles. “The Sentinel will be waiting for you.”
Larina
Larina listened to the groaning outside of her cell door. She had heard a great ruckus earlier from farther down the corridor, the reverberations so violent she could only imagine Olmar was at the root of them.
She placed her ear to her food slot and listened to a gruff voice berating a prisoner. The voice sounded like the burly guard, Tarl. A good, swift boot to the groin would see that boor doubled over.
“Come on old man, wake up. You’re lucky I didn’t throw ya down the steps. I’ll be buggered if ya think I’m draggin’ ya all the way back to yer cell.”
Old man? Alhena? Why wasn’t he walking? What had they done to him?
“Alhena?” Larina called out, and kicked at the food slot.
“Keep it up missy, an’ ol’ Tarl’ll give you somethin’ t’ kick about.” The guard hoofed her door.
Larina jerked back in surprise, but she stood up and hammered the unforgiving metal door with the palms of her hands. “Ya? Come try it! Come on!” She screamed her frustration. “You ain’t so tough hiding on the other side of the door!”
The entire cellblock shook as som
ething huge rattled a door farther down the corridor.
“Friggin’ hell, old man,” Tarl’s voice sounded more distant. “I hates this job when the moon is full. For a skinny thing, you weigh a lot.”
Another high-pitched shriek sounded close by.
Larina fell to the ground and pressed her face against the food slot again. “Sadyra?”
The hammering down the corridor went on for some time. Even after Larina heard Tarl’s booted feet pass by her door again and ascend the curving staircase, the constant pounding continued. It was a wonder that whoever was responsible hadn’t broken their hands and feet by now. She smiled. There could only be one person that numb headed.
When the pounding subsided, Larina called out again, ‘Sadyra?”
“Larina. I’m here.” Sadyra’s faint voice reached her ear.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Where are we?”
Larina recalled the fight in the Chamber. By the time the guards had it under control, Olmar and Sadyra had been knocked unconscious. Several guardsmen nursed varying injuries sustained in their attempt to subdue Olmar, Sadyra and herself. They had been stripped to relieve them of their possessions, bound and either led, or dragged away from the Chamber, along the public corridor, past the busy mess halls, and down the lengthy stone steps to the dungeon below. Larina had been tossed into the first cell on the right. As to where everyone else ended up, she had no idea.
She had called out everyone’s name until her voice was hoarse, but no one had answered. She had given up hope that the others were anywhere nearby until a little while ago—when the entire cellblock had echoed under the constant pounding of what could only be an enraged prisoner. The revelation had filled her with hope. Only the Lunkhead could cause such a disturbance, but when the banging had stopped she wasn’t able to communicate with him. His cell must be quite a way down the corridor.
“We’re in the Gritian dungeon. I think they just brought Alhena back from somewhere.”
“Olmar?” Sadyra’s voice asked. “Yes, it’s me, Sadie.”
It sounded like Sadyra was talking to Olmar, but Larina only heard Sadyra’s side of the conversation.
“Yes. Larina’s here too…Alhena? Yes, Larina says they brought him back from somewhere.”
Larina jammed her face against the slot. “Tell Olmar I think they hurt Pops.”
“Larina thinks they hurt him.”
Larina cringed as the cellblock erupted in thunderous noise. When the pounding finally subsided, she said, “Tell the big dummy to save his strength.”
“Stop banging, Midge. You’re going to cause a cave in.”
Larina smiled. Lunkhead. Midge. The poor man. Olmar, the big, cuddly bear wasn’t the smartest man in the world, but in the short time she had known him, he seemed down to earth and genuine. She found it ironic that the two biggest men she knew, Olmar and Pollard, were also two of the kindest people she had ever met, but get on their bad side—watch out. They had the ferocity of a cornered badger and the strength of a mountain troll. And yet, she and Sadyra took great pleasure in teasing the heck out of them.
The cellblock became quiet after that. At one point, the sound of many sets of booted feet came down the long stairwell and passed her cell. She listened at the door, but other than the distant sound of angry voices, she couldn’t make out anything they said. The corridor reverberated with loud bangs, and then shortly afterward, the group stormed past her cell and clumped back up the steps.
Sadyra informed her that they had warned Olmar to stop acting up, but when it came down to it, their threats fell on deaf ears. Olmar had pounded on the door and challenged them to make him stop.
Larina sat back against the cool rock wall beside her cell door with a contented smile. Good old Olmar. If he ever found his way free, there would be hell to pay. As she sat there, the waistline of her breeks dug into her bony hip. Her grin grew wider. Perhaps there was a way to facilitate that scenario.
She waited until the day’s pungent gruel was shoved through her food slot. Feeding time had come to mark the end of the day. So far, it had also signalled that any surprise cell inspection wasn’t likely to happen until after they went around with the water. She had kept track of the guard’s activities for what she believed was the last three days—time was hard to discern when one was buried beneath the earth. Though the guard’s movements were never like clockwork, they maintained a steady routine. Every once in a while, for no apparent reason, a couple of guards would unlock the door and wave their torches about, blinding her. Twice they had pinned her to the ground and searched her, not caring where they groped. The first time she thought they meant to do something more, but so far, they had released her after satisfying themselves she wasn’t hiding anything. If Tarl, or whoever was on duty, proved true to form, they would return in a little while to dole out the scant water ration. It seemed like they performed that chore alone. She needed to be ready.
Pulling off her breeks, she used her teeth to tear at the waist hem. A few years ago, an old woman in Songsbirth had shown her a way to keep the utility belt she wore around her waist from pulling at the top of her pants. They had sewn in two thin bands of steel that ran above each hip; thin enough to be pliable but strong enough to keep her hidden throwing knives from destroying the waistline or accidentally cutting her.
She cursed the tailor who had fashioned her clothes. The woman’s stitches were well done. Biting and spitting as fast as possible, over and over again, she gnawed a hole large enough to worry the steel shank from one of the hips. She pulled her breeks back on, laced them tight, and faced the door. She hadn’t much time.
Boots sounded on the steps and proceeded past her cell. She waited until she couldn’t hear their scrape any longer and smiled as she went to work on the lock. Many people had suspected her and Pollard of having relations because the two of them would disappear for hours on end while patrolling the Splendoor Falls catacombs. She shook her head. Pollard? Really? In reality, he had treated her as the peer she was, joking and carrying on like she was a sister. Because of her voracious appetite to learn new skills, he had taken it upon himself to teach her how to track, hunt, use a blade, and, as luck would have it, to pass through locked doors. One of the things the giant hadn’t taught her was how to use a bow. She almost laughed at the thought. His archery skills were so bad, she once told him he’d be better off running up to his target and beating it with the bow.
The sound of a scraping food slot door sounded in the distance. The guard was getting closer. He always worked backward down the cellblock.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. The heavy lock twisted the thin shank. She bent it in half and stomped on it, flattening it enough to fit back into the keyhole. If she couldn’t manage to spring the lock soon, there was a good chance a surprise cell check would find her with it. She couldn’t allow that to happen. The guards would search her clothing and body with more attention than they had before.
She wasn’t modest by any stretch of the imagination, but being stripped on the floor of the Chamber, in front of all those guards, and whoever else had been on the dais, had been humiliating. Someone was going to atone for that.
The scrape of the guard’s boots came to stop on the other side of her door.
Larina’s fingers sensed the pull on the lock mechanism. With a gentle, but persistent twist, the inner workings resisted her pick enough to bend the shank in her grasp, but she kept the pressure on. It was now or never.
She heard the clasp that held the food slot closed, release.
The lock turned with a snick at the same time the food slot squealed open.
Larina pried the edge of the heavy door with one hand while pulling back on the jammed shank with her other. The cell door swung inward.
She was greeted by the startled face of a guard kneeling before her.
The young man rose to his feet. "Hey!"
That was the only word he managed to say. Larina's boot caught him under the ch
in, accelerating his attempt to stand.
His teethed gnashed together as the kick lifted him off the ground. His body was limp before it hit the cell door across the tunnel.
She searched him, panicking. He didn't have any keys.
A gruff voice sounded at the top of the long stairwell. "Jer? What's going on down there?"
Larina stood up. Her blood ran cold. She stared at the dark passage of steps, unable to see beyond the bend in the rise.
Someone descended the stairs.
Lake of the Lost
Silurian shivered in the early morning light. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the ring of stones beside him, burnt turkey bones still visible within the grey ash. Melody must have sensed him stirring because she opened her eyes and sat up, bits of dried leaves tangled in the loose strands of her blonde hair, and clinging to her cloak.
“How’d you sleep?”
Melody stretched and yawned. “Not well. You?”
“Same,” he said as he grabbed the remaining sticks beside him and went about tending the fire.
By the time Melody had returned from relieving herself, he had a meagre fire burning. “We should have saved some of that turkey for this morning.”
She adjusted her robes and plunked herself down on the log she had sat on last night. “A pigeon has more meat than that sad turkey,” she muttered, her bleary gaze vacant.
The look on his sister’s face troubled him. He had been pleasantly surprised when they were first reunited. Melody was no longer the frightened little girl from Mount Cinder. She had grown up and matured far beyond her years. Living and training with Phazarus had instilled confidence and independence in her, but looking at her now, it was as if they were scrambling about Cliff Face, trying to avoid the evil that had haunted them all those years ago.
“What’s the matter?”
“Huh,” she answered, her thoughts elsewhere. “Oh, nothing.”
The Wizard of the North Page 15