Severed Empire: Wizard's War (26 page)

Mykal grabbed Coil’s legs, twisted and turned his body, then pulled the legs out straight.

Blodwyn lowered his ear next to Coil’s mouth. He rose up fast, as if startled. “I have to clear his airway. His lungs are filled with water.”

Mykal watched Blodwyn tip back Coil’s head. He pinched closed Coil’s nose and pressed his mouth over Coil’s. He blew breaths into Coil’s mouth. “Did his chest rise? Did it go up and down?”

“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I wasn’t looking; you didn’t say to watch for that!”

“Do it again,” Mykal said. He wasn’t sure how Blodwyn would make Coil’s chest rise and fall. He watched, intently. He didn’t want to blink, fearful he might miss it.

Blodwyn blew into Coil’s mouth twice. They were quick, but deep breaths.

“It went up and down, each time,” Mykal said. It was like Blodwyn breathed for Coil. It was a peculiar thing, watching Coil’s lungs fill with air from Blodwyn’s mouth.

Blodwyn rose up on his knees, laced his fingers together, hand over hand, and set them on Coil’s chest. With elbows locked, he pushed his weight onto Coil, without bending his elbows, and bounced up and down. The weight of Blodwyn on Coil’s chest looked dangerously painful. The ribs bowed and bent inward. Mykal worried Blodwyn’s antics might crush Coil.

“You’re going to kill him!” Quill said, and rushed toward Blodwyn.

Mykal tackled his uncle, and wrapped his arms around him, restraining him from getting up. “We need to let him handle this. I’ve known Wyn all my life. He knows what he’s doing.”

“You’ve seen this barbaric ritual performed before?” Quill said.

Mykal hadn’t, but wouldn’t admit to it. Not now, at least. “Let him handle this!”

Blodwyn counted out loud. “Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two…” He never stopped pushing up and down on Coil’s chest.

Then there came a sickening crunch. It was almost expected. A man’s body couldn’t withstand that harsh punishment without bones breaking. Mykal worried a severed rib would pierce Coil’s heart. This would all be for naught, then.

Mykal restrained his uncle, holding him by the shoulders, and driving his weight against Quill’s.

“He’s killing him,” Quill said, looking deflated, defeated. “He’s killing him, Mykal!”

“He’s not.” Mykal shouted, but only so Quill would hear him. He wasn’t sure he believed his own words. He wasn’t sure he understood what Blodwyn was doing. It made sense when they shared breaths, but this—squashing Coil’s chest—made far less sense. “He’s not. Give him a chance.”

Anna hugged herself, watching. She cried, and let tears roll down her cheeks. “Will he die?”

“He’s already dead. He stopped breathing. Get off me,” Quill said, attempting to shrug out of Mykal’s grasp.

Mykal almost asked if he was settled down, but instead wordlessly stood up, held out his hand, and helped Quill to his feet.

Coil’s body bucked. His legs kicked out. Water bubbled up inside his mouth. Blodwyn stopped pumping on the man’s chest, and rolled Coil onto his side. He patted Coil on the back. “That’s it. That’s it.”

Coil spit up some more river water, and curled into a loose ball, his knees were drawn toward his chest. He gagged a few times, one hand lightly slapping wet rock as he worked for control of his lungs. “My chest,” he said.

“You have some broken ribs, friend. But you’re going to be all right.” Blodwyn grabbed up his staff, and leaned on it as he got to his feet. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Mykal said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“When the war is over, I’ll teach it to you,” Blodwyn said. He spoke softly.

“Thank you,” he said.

Blodwyn touched the top of Mykal’s head, and then moved away from the others and leaned against a wall as they crowded around Coil.

Mykal knew he’d just witnessed some odd magic, perhaps even
old
magic. Blodwyn had brought a man back from the dead. He wasn’t sure if Coil realized everything that just happened. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell him. Someday it would make for a good story. He hoped the time would come when they could relax and sit around a warm fire sharing tales from their days before and after the war.

Eadric said, “We still need to find a way to cross that river. We haven’t any more time to kill. If the king’s witch picked up on my son’s magic, they could be sending knights down here now to finish us off.”

“I have an idea. A crazy one,” Mykal said. “But it just might work.”

Anna regarded her son thoughtfully, with a raised eyebrow.

“Not with magic,” Mykal said.

“We’re listening.” Basin was on his feet, bent forward with his hands on his knees. His hair and clothing were still dripping wet. His body shivered; a defense mechanism against the cold. He panted, still catching his breath.

“If I can borrow your staff…” Mykal held out his arm toward Blodwyn.

This time Blodwyn raised an eyebrow, and studied Mykal for several long moments before he shrugged and tossed over the staff.

Mykal caught the staff with a
thunk
as his hand closed around the wood and iron. “Everyone, remove the rope from around your waist,” he said, as he made sure the rope around his waist was extra tight.

“But why?” Quill said. Despite having asked the question, he worked loose the knot.

“I’d rather show you.” Mykal was confident the idea would work, but not used to having parents around and wasn’t sure if they would approve. It was kind of silly thinking about that. He was raised by his grandfather and Blodwyn, and they both knew he was capable at accomplishing most anything he attempted. Eventually.

Quill furrowed his brow, and narrowed his eyes as if he did not like the way that sounded. He helped Anna with the knot on her rope.

Mykal gathered up all of the rope and coiled it over his arm until he reached the opposite end of it fastened around his waist. He wasn’t sure if needed, or wanted his father’s assistance. Worse, he wasn’t positive how he should address him. He had less issue with calling Anna Mother. “Eadric, if you will tie just this end around your waist.”

Eadric shook his head. “I just untied it.”

“You were in the middle. I just want me at one end, you at the other.”

Eadric sighed, “Whatever you say, son.”

Calling him Eadric must have been the wrong thing. Mykal didn’t have the time to worry about hurt feelings at the moment. “I say, I trust you.”

Eadric smiled. “Trust me with what?”

“Not to let me drown in that river,” Mykal said, and then before anyone could protest, or block his plan, he turned around, and ran at the bank. There wasn’t much room for getting a head start. In a few long strides he was there, going as fast as could be expected.

I’ll never make it across
, Mykal thought.
It’s too far! What in the world was I thinking?

Only Mykal didn’t jump from bank to bank, exactly. He held the staff near the top, and pointed the bottom out in front of him. It must look like he was charging the river with a spear, only, he ran at the water sideways. Mykal plunged the opposite end of the staff into the river, halfway across, as he was vaulted off of his feet and launched clear across to the other side.

Eadric let out a howl, it sounded like a confused cheer; a mix between a terrified scream and an excited release. “What—what in the world was that?”

Mykal brushed himself off, and yelled. “I’d seen some of the younger kids do this by a creek near the castle.” He laughed, relieved. The river might not be deep, but it was moving fast. Rope or not, he could have messed up and wound up dead, easily. “Wasn’t sure I could do it.”

“What was that?” Anna said.

“Nothing,” Mykal said.

“Well, you did it,” Eadric said.

“I don’t see how we’re all going to be able to do that,” Anna said.

Mykal unfastened the rope around his waist, and tied it around a rock pillar. “You’re not going to have to. My father will hold one end of the rope while the rest of you—you’re going to get wet, but if you hang on tight, you can pull yourself across. Then we can all pull my father across, after.”

“What about Coil?” Quill said. “He’s got broken bones.”

“He’s going to stay here,” Blodwyn said.

“I am not.” Coil sat up. He winced, eyes closed tight, and teeth grinding.

“You are,” Blodwyn said.

“I’m here to fight, to stop the Mountain King, not to hide in the caves below his castle like some rodent,” Coil said.

“You want to help, right? Coming with us, you become a liability. You are injured. You’ll slow us down. Is that your wish?”

Coil snarled. “You know that’s not my wish.”

“And I know you want to help,” Blodwyn said. “But you can’t help us inside the castle. Not in this condition. If you think about it, then you’ll know I’m right. Here. We will leave one of the torches with you.”

“Keep it. I’m not afraid of the dark,” Coil said.

“There are spiders and snakes down here,” Mykal said.

Coil held out a hand. “Fine, I’ll take one. Whatever. Not because I’m scared, just because I don’t want all of you worrying about me.”

Chapter 23

An array of crisp white bolts of lightning connected the ceiling to the floor. The bolts danced, bending askew this way and that, and sizzled and hummed the entire time. King Hermon Cordillera felt his hairs charge. He shielded his eyes from the intensity of the light with a raised forearm. Smoke spewed from the rocks above and below. The smoke filled the dungeon, making the lightning that much more brilliant.

There was a loud crack. Cordillera waved away thick smoke and saw a man standing where the lightning had been. The man was shorter than the king, but beefy with broad shoulders. He was dressed in a shiny black leather jacket that went below the waist, and above the knees. The white tunic was buttoned up to the top. The wizard’s hair was cut short over the ears, and parted down the side. It was black hair, with streaks of grey. His hands were raised, and knees bent. He looked defensive, and Cordillera wondered if he’d somehow been alerted danger was present? Could he have sensed Pendora’s demise?

Ida aimed her lethal hands at the wizard holding him in place, as Cordillera made his way around the room. He glanced down at Galatia. Just like last time, she was out of it. If she were awake, and alert, she faked it well. He wasn’t concerned about her. Osuald demanded his full attention.

The smoke barely thinned; it was difficult seeing much of anything. The smoke, in fact, was more like clouds that whirled about as if a storm brewed inside the dungeon. Nothing dissipated. It was trapped inside the dungeon with them.

“Ida?” the magician said, moving around. “
My
Ida? Can that be you?”

Cordillera stopped walking. His smoke-teared eyes opened wide, despite the heavy burning sensation. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

His… Ida?

His?

His? What did that mean? His? The Mountain King felt suddenly betrayed. It could explain some things, such as why Ida always seemed timid. She let him think he was in control. Why had she never used her magic against him? Was this man the reason why?

“Who is Osuald?” Cordillera said.

“I’m
her
father,” the wizard said. He took a step closer to his daughter, and then another. He seemed alert to his surroundings, of the half-dead woman strapped to the table, the charred corpse in the cell on his left, and of the king standing in front of him. “Something’s not right here. Are you okay, Ida?”

“He can help us,” she said, holding up both hands as she pleaded.

Ida had seen how he’d handled Pendora.

Her father. She never said. It made sense. Explained why she had magic. Enough of this
. Cordillera advanced on the wizard swinging the iron club towards the back of his head.

Ida screamed out a warning.

Osuald stepped out of the way. The momentum of the swing pulled Cordillera off balance. The ground chipped away as the club slammed into it.

“What’s going on?” Osuald backed away from the king; beads of sweat dotted his brow. His arms rose. The tips of his fingers crackled. Red, jagged bolts encircled his hands.

Cordillera regained his footing, and spun around. He growled, staring at Ida. She’d betrayed him. Had that been a part of
her
plan all along? Was she just by his side so that he’d bring her father out of hiding?

He lifted the club up, and bounced it over his shoulder, ready for another swing. The sweeping arc was wide, fast.

Osuald pushed his arms forward. Red lightning shot from his palms. The electric charge attacked the club. Cordillera’s body shook. His teeth clattered.

“Ida! Come with me!”

“Da,” she said, but stayed where she was. It was almost as if her feet were cemented to the floor.

Cordillera wondered if she was now torn between her king, and her father. He panted as he bent forward, and tried catching his breath. With his vision blurred from the current still coursing through his body, the intensity from the shock slowly lessened. The club was no match for Osuald. He should have figured the death of Pendora would have set off alarms. He’d missed the opportunity of catching the man off guard. Fighting him now could prove futile, even dangerous.

“Stay back!” Osuald barked out the command.

“Do you know who I am?” The Mountain King puffed his chest, and stood a little taller.

“I’m not sure it matters.” Osuald couldn’t keep his eyes on the king. They kept drifting left, and right, taking in the horrors surrounding him.

Cordillera saw the fear in the man’s eyes. He might be a powerful wizard, but he was still a man, and the man in front of him was clearly afraid. “I am King Hermon Cordillera.”

“I don’t care,” Osuald said. He kept one hand trained on Cordillera, as he reached out for his daughter with the other. “Come with me, Ida. I’ll get us far, far away from this insane person.”

Cordillera suppressed a laugh, and instead ground his teeth, and narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brow. With his jaw set, he threw a punch into the air in front of him.