Dark King Of The North (Book 3) (17 page)

***

Belgad was still in the rain next to Fortisquo when the news arrived.

“You lost them?” Sergeant Lerebus asked.

Captain Lendo gritted his teeth to explain what had happened at the castle.

“I warned you about Darkbow,” Belgad said.

“Enough of that!” Lendo turned to the sergeant. “Can you find them again?”

“With ease,” Lerebus said, removing the small pale thing from his pocket once more. He breathed on the object again, and Belgad saw for sure that it was the skull of a small animal.

Lerebus stared at the bone as he rubbed it with two fingers.

“Hurry it up, man,” Lendo said as cold rain dripped down the back of his neck.

Lerebus appeared puzzled. He rubbed the tiny skull again and squinted at it.

“You can’t find them?” Belgad asked.

The look Lerebus gave the Dartague told the story.

Captain Lendo slapped a fist against his leg and screamed.

“Markwood has hidden them,” Belgad said. “We would be lucky if they are even in the city.”

Chapter Eighteen

Verkain had spent two centuries scheming. He had slaughtered a Kobalan king and his chieftains, taking control of their clans to unify the nation. Then he had spent the next two hundred years building Kobalos from within. Along the way he had made pacts with demons, stolen souls for his own purposes and murdered every member of his family, including his own children.

He had planned, two centuries earlier, to lead his troops into war, to bring about his reign of chaos. His goal was simple, power over everything and everyone. It was the only way he knew to cheat the gods, to remake his own destiny, to find his own vengeance. He did not consider himself evil, no more than any predator would think itself evil, but he had known all along he would be forced to take drastic steps.

Now the end was near, but Verkain was not happy. His plans had been thwarted. Markwood had escaped.

The bearer of the news would suffer.

Lord Verkain eased back on his throne. “Pain.”

Captain Lendo dropped, squirming on the floor, his teeth clenched and his eyes slammed shut. The captain made no sound other than the rustlings of his clothing and boots on stone.

“The only reason I don’t kill you is because I can make use of your services,” Verkain said to the twisting figure, “but someone has to die for your idiocy.”

The king’s eyes shifted to an unfortunate soldier standing near. “ You, you can die.”

A look of shock crossed the guard’s face, then he crumpled to the ground amid the clangings of his arms and armor.

Verkain waved a hand over the dead man and the writhing captain. “Clean this up.”

Servants in dark tunics scurried forward.

Belgad, against a wall with Fortisquo and other Kobalan officers, put a hand on the dagger at his belt, ready for a good throw if Verkain should turn his deadly intentions upon the Dartague.

Fortunately for all in the crowded room, Verkain simply shut his eyes and pressed fingers against the bridge of his nose. “I did not come this far to be harangued by a petty mage who should have died years ago.”

The king’s head came up, glaring at Sergeant Lerebus at his side. “You’ve tried to find them?”

“Yes, my lord,” Lerebus said, “but I believe the wizard has shielded them.”

Verkain nodded. “He has power to do that, but he must be weak. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

“With your permission, my lord, I could break some men from training and begin a search,” Lerebus said.

“It would take a thousand men a thousand years to search every nook in Mogus Potere,” Verkain said. “No, we shall proceed as if none of this has happened. My son is dead and our invasion will begin in days. We will deal with Markwood when he rears his head.”

With that the crowd was dismissed. Soldiers filed out of the room while officers in black and servants hustled from one end of the chamber to another.

As they exited, Fortisquo whispered to Belgad, “He proves his insanity more every day.”

“He’s underestimating Darkbow and Markwood,” Belgad said, “or he has something else planned.”

***

“Enough.” Verkain swept a hand over Captain Lendo.

The shaggy-headed officer spasmed as if his spine were on fire, then he shook one final time and became still. He opened his eyes, staring about to find himself on the bed in his personal chambers, a small room with the luxuries of one window, a rug and a tapestry. His black uniform was drenched with sweat.

“Do you know why I didn’t kill you?” the king asked.

The captain’s eyes stopped on those of his ruler who was sitting next to the bed on a stool.

“We have a war to begin,” Verkain went on, “and it is a war we will win. However, I need all my officers, including you.”

“I understand, my lord,” Lendo dared speak.

“I wonder if you do?” the king asked, more to himself than his captain.

“The men have been training hard. We will be prepared.”

“I hope so,” Verkain said. “We have a tough road ahead, but in the end we will be triumphant.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Verkain stood and slid away from the bed. “It is time you return to the troops. I will be along in the morning to discuss our opening strategy.”

“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 went 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.”