Death Or Fortune (38 page)

     The wizard
Lomark looked down from the top of the White Spire.  He watched as the
flying carpet came in for a landing.  It was an odd sight, two black robed
figures standing on either side of an armored woman.  Like she was someone
important, like she would do something important besides spread her legs for
the highest bidder.  Hearing his companions tromp down the stairs he
figured it was time to go. Taking one last moment to insure he had everything,
he ran his hands down his robe.  First checking to see if his wrist dagger
was secure, he had troubles with the thong the past few days causing it to drop
at odd times.  His hands then went to his belt where he kept everything he
needed for his spells.  He had to make sure he had everything, he doubted
this would be a quick fight.  Ignoring the calls from below to get moving
Lomark took one last look out the tower window. "Yes, quite!" he said
to no one at all as he took his staff in hand.  Quickly turning from the
window he made his way down the tower stairs with haste.
     "Kromwell, try not to get yourself killed.
 I need you to protect Zender." The three men on the stairs ahead of
him all stopped at once, turning to look at the wizard.
     "I can take care of myself.  Don't you worry
about it, you just make sure you don't fry us with your spells." The
cleric almost looked annoyed with the wizard.
     "Aye, my beard can't take another of yer
lightning bolts!" Zackary remarked.  Lomark let out a gentle sigh and
rolled his eyes at the warrior.  It was a simple mistake he thought to
himself. That hallway looked so much longer than what it really was.  He
was tempted to argue with the dumb brute but did not have the time.  He
had to have a moment or two to cast protective spells on himself before he left
the tower.  Zender shared his blessing with each warrior and did what he
could for Lomark.
     "You know I don't like it when you do that!"
     "It isn't too late to change your ways my friend.
You would look good in white and your skin wouldn't look so pale all the
time."
     "Baaaaa, you don't know anything." the
wizard was amused, while he could not deny the bond between him and the cleric,
Zender didn't know everything.  Not about his past or the things he had
done. Yet at times when he was alone in the dark, he would wonder if he could
really change.  Shaking his head he pushed those thoughts away.  The
cleric would kill him if he knew all that Lomark had done, this much the wizard
was sure of.
     Lomark was the first to walk out of the tower.
 Between the new arrivals and the four companions was the now rotting
corpse of the dead dragon.  Lomark looked back at Zender who pointed to
the left as he was heading to the right around the beast.  Zackary
followed the wizard as Darmot went with the cleric. Once Lomark was clear of
the dragon’s body he could see the three on the ground.  Hetaron had
stepped ahead of the others. With his staff in hand he was waiting, he only had
eyes for Kromwell.
     “Bring me the Rod of the Arcane and we will leave.”
Hetaron said while looking around the courtyard.  His eyes lingered on the
corpse of the dragon.  He looked at it as if it shouldn’t be there.
 As if it was something that was out of place. “I would like to avoid
wasting any time. King Xcavere should be here sometime in the next twelve
hours.  We saw them from the air.”
     “How very generous of you Hetaron, do you think we
would still be here if we had it?” Darmot was still thinking of his last
encounter with the wizard.  The anger in his voice was clear to all who
heard.
     “Very well, I know one of you has it, I shall just
remove it from your dead bodies.” Hetaron turned towards Lomark, it was clear
from the look on his face that he assumed that is where he would find the rod.
 He moved away from his two partners and started to cast a spell, Lomark
did the same.  Senjin, moved towards the cleric.  He too began to
cast a spell, soon the sound of magic was exploding all over the courtyard.
     Cynthia stood and looked between the two warriors in
front of her. She locked eyes with Darmot, hoping to see something other than
anger. When he turned away and went towards the cleric in white she felt a
bitter stab of rejection.  It didn’t last long though, she drew her sword
and went to face the warrior with hair like fire.  She knew she could beat
this one as she had beaten him before, in the tournament in Eystlund.
 This time she was free to kill him, without remorse.

     Darmot
looked down at his sword, he knew there was only so much he could do but this
is what he had been waiting for. “I don’t care who I hit, something is getting
crushed.” Darmot saw the cleric call down a lightning bolt from the clear blue
sky, when it didn’t even touch the wizard Senjin he knew what he had to do.
 He took off at a trot to help the cleric.
     “Pathetic god ling, do you dare to think your powers
can touch me?” Blue bolts flew from the wizards hands into the chest of the
cleric.  Zender was thrown back towards Darmot.
     “He has some kind of shield around him.  Distract
him while I try something.” Zender told him.  Darmot only nodded his head
and went forward sword in hand.
     “Oh, this is amusing.  Come on, do your best Lord
Kromwell, it will give me time to decide how I will kill you.” The elder wizard
taunted Darmot.  He did not move as the warrior raised his blade.  He
did not move as the sword arm fell, a blinding flash exploded in the warriors
eyes as the blade made contact.  Three times he stuck at the wizard, each
time the blade was blocked by some magical force.  Senjin was laughing
when he raised his hands and unleashed his magic into the warrior.
     Darmot could feel his feet leaving the ground.
 Darmot could still see the laughing wizard as he flew backwards, he then
saw Zender moving forward again as he flew past him.  Darmot hit the
ground in a crash of armor and weapons.  He could feel something wet on
his back, he lay still a moment waiting for the pain that was sure to come.
When it did not come he sat up and put his hand under the armor that covered
his back.  Looking down it dawned on him just what it was that he was
feeling.  One of the healing potions he carried in his bag had broken.
 He took a quick look inside to see how many had broken when he saw that
one bottle that didn’t quite belong.
     He remembered standing in Hetarons room what seemed to
be a life time ago
. “I learned quite a few things today Kromwell. That
potion in your hands is the last of its kind anywhere in the entire kingdom of
Eystlund. The potion will strip an item of its magical properties for a short
time. Do you know why that is the last bit of that potion? This tournament you
want to fight in. That potion sells out every year around this time. Fighters
trying to get an advantage use it so their items will pass any magical
inspection. By the time they have to fight, the magical properties have
returned and will give them their advantage back. Unless you plan on letting
your pretty wife watch you get gutted, you might want to use that or forget any
notion of fairness.”
Holding the small jar in his hand, Darmot remembered
it all.
     Looking up again his saw Zender being blown back
again, his robes were turning a mix of brown and black from the dirt on the
ground and the magic assault of Senjin.  Darmot got to his feet and put
his sword in his scabbard, taking the potion Hetaron had given him in hand he
went to help Zender up.
     “Oh goody, Lord Kromwell is still alive.  I
thought I had killed you already.” Darmot ignored the old wizard.
     “I’ve got something, get ready to charge him.” He told
the cleric. “It might not work though, so a prayer might not be misplaced right
now.” A sly smile formed on Zender’s face, he almost wanted to laugh but he
held it back after looking it to the face of his friend.  Darmot took a
good grip on the potion jar, using his thumb he made sure the cork in the top
was in tight. He couldn’t afford a mistake right now.  Getting as close to
the wizard as he could before another spell hit him he said his own prayer and
threw the jar as hard as he could.  He watched it fly towards the wizard,
hoping it would work.  Senjin stood with an amused look on his face as the
jar exploded on his magical barriers.  Yet a look of surprise formed on his
face as the potion splashed on his face and all over his robe.
     “What is this, holy water? Who do you fools think I
am?” The wizard started to wipe the potion off his face, not even bothering to
look at the cleric charging at him with his hammer held high.  As he tasted
the potion on his hand the light of understanding began to dawn on his face.
     “I think you are an evil son of a bitch and you need
to die.” Zender said to him just before striking the first blow. The wizard
Senjin tried to block the strike with his arms. It did nothing to stop the
hammer from crashing into his head. Once again drawing his sword, Darmot smiled
at the sickening thump the clerics hammer made when it contacted the wizards
skull.

     Senjin was
stunned, blood from the wound on his head started to run down his face. He
opened his mouth to scream when a second hammer blow connected with the side of
his head. The sound that came from his mouth was nothing like what he wanted to
say.  He knew this was it, this was his end.  He was angry more than
anything, Hetaron kept telling him how he could see the future. Yet he had
never spoken of this, never even told him this was possible.  Just before
the sword of Darmot Kromwell entered his body a single last thought came to
mind. “Hetaron did know and he has betrayed me.”
     “I still don’t believe that worked.” Darmot had a huge
grin on his face as he turned to look at his friend the cleric. Zender was
laughing yet his face was pale and damp. He started to take a step and fell to
his knees.  It was then that Darmot saw the blood on his friends white
robes. “Heal yourself Zender, we still need you.” He said as he went down by
his friend’s side. The cleric nodded once and fell backwards as his eyes rolled
up into his head.  Blood was flowing at a steady pace from under the
cleric’s breastplate. “Shit!” Darmot said to no one at all as he once again
went into his bag, hoping to pull out a miracle. He spared one look away from
the cleric before using the last healing potion in his bag.  Zackary was
down but Cynthia was on her knees, she was hurting. The magical battle between
Hetaron and Lomark continued to rage on. As he pulled the cork from the healing
potion he said a small prayer to whatever god might be paying attention.
     Hetaron kept looking at the dragon’s corpse.
 This isn’t right, he kept telling himself. While he had several visions
of this fight, none of them included this. One of the visions had hundreds of
dead men scattered all over the courtyard, hacked and blown to bits.  In
this vision, the cleric was dead.  Another vision was much like this only
the tower was broken, the top floor had been blown away somehow.  In this
vision, Lomark was dead and he was fighting Ramanthus instead. Other visions
were just like it was when they arrived at the White Spire.  Hundreds of
visions, hundreds of threads of fate leading to this one possible moment.
 He thought he had seen them all, to prepare for what was to come.
 Yet the dragon was never something he saw in any of those visions.
 This was something new, something or someone unknown had set this into
motion.  This unsettled him more than anything else.  Along with the
fact that he had failed to kill Lomark so far, Hetaron could feel the world
starting to come undone.
     Fire and lightning filled the air. Meteors fell from
the sky and creatures from other dimensions were summoned to do the two wizards
bidding.  When all is said and done, there is only so much a single wizard
can do in a single day.  Hetaron could feel his mind falling apart as he knew
he had cast his final spell, he had to rest. Yet there he was, Lomark was still
on his feet. Hetaron waited for the next spell he was sure was about to come.
“Stalemate?” he said aloud.
     “Perhaps.” Lomark said, his breath coming in great
grasp. “Perhaps I am simply testing you. Seeing how much more you have to give.
Waiting to see what tricks you have up your sleeve.”
     “I have this.” Hetaron said as he pulled the long
blade from one of the hidden pockets in his robe.  Hetaron held up a
silver blade that glowed with a green tint when held up to the light.  The
poison will work fast on him, Hetaron thought.  He started to walk towards
Lomark, his blade in hand.  Just before he saw the light on the other
wizard’s staff, he could see out of the corner of his eye the dragon, laying
there on the ground. “This will be enough for you.” He said to Lomark.
     “Perhaps, perhaps not. I still have this.” Hetaron
looked on in horror as the magical energy  few from the staff into his own
body.  Pain racked his body but he continued on keeping a tight grip on
his knife.  Lashing out when he was in reach he cut through Lomarks robe,
slicing deep into the wizards arm. Using his staff Lomark used the last of his
strength to strike a blow into Hetarons head.  Both wizards fell to the
ground, both in mortal fear of their life.
     As Darmot lifted Zender’s head up off the ground onto
his lap he saw the two wizards go down.  Only he and Cynthia was still up,
as he forced the clerics mouth open to give him the potion he saw her headed
towards the wizards. “Drink man, come on! I need you!” Darmot could feel the
fear in his words as they tumbled out of his mouth.  Slowly forcing the
blood red liquid into the cleric’s mouth he knew he had to wait.  He had
to drink it all.  With half the bottle empty Zender’s eyes opened and he
nearly choked.
     “Thank Solarth!” he said as he looked into Darmot’s
eyes. “What is going on?” Darmot looked back, one of the black robed figures
was on his feet again, and Cynthia was getting closer.
     “Zackary is down, might be dead. Same for one of the
wizards, I can’t tell who. You take care of Zack, I have to stop her.” Darmot
helped the cleric back to his feet before going for his sword again. He took
off at a run but he knew he wasn’t going to be in time.  The wizard was
speaking, saying something to the one on the ground.  Darmot kept running,
running in fear while he watched the assassin raise her blade to strike the
wizard from behind.  Just as he raised his blade and started to let out a
battle cry hoping to warn the wizard Cynthia struck.  Her blade passed
through the robe, into his neck and came out of the wizard’s mouth.  She
had started to twist the blade when she heard Darmot screaming.  Pulling
her sword free of the now dead wizard she turned to face him.
     “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” he screamed as he lunged
forward with the blade.  He rammed it home into her body as if it had
belonged there.  Darmot’s blade was driven past her ribs, through her
right lung and out her back again. Cynthia let out a pained gasp as she looked
down at the sword in her body. With another primal scream Darmot ripped the
blade free and watched as she fell to the ground.  He stood there over her
body and watched as she tried to talk. She coughed out a fountain of blood
before her heart stopped beating.  He then looked down at the wizard she
had killed, Lord Hetaron the Dark was no more.