Severed Empire: Wizard's War (30 page)

Eadric’s head bobbed. Once. Twice. On the third time he jumped out of hiding.

Mykal and Quill followed.

The guards were caught off guard, but were well-trained. They pulled swords from scabbards and took a defensive stance.

Quill loosed the arrow. Mykal watched the broad-head punch through the chainmail. It lodged deep in the one guard’s chest. Dropping his sword, the guard clutched the arrow with both hands. Blood coated his fingers.

Eadric lunged forward. Metal clashed against metal. Eadric stepped toward the guard when their blades seemed locked together. He gripped his hand over the guard’s shoulder, and shoved the man backward.

The man Quill shot fell forward. He crashed hard on the ground, and rolled onto his back. Mykal knelt beside him. The man’s eyes were opened wide, and unfocused. His lips kept moving, but no words came out of his mouth. “Where is the king keeping the sorcerer? Where is Galatia?”

At the sound of Mykal’s voice, the guard’s eyes found him. His mouth continued quivering. His tongue came out and licked dry lips.

Mykal grabbed the man’s shoulders, and shook the dying guard. “Where is she? Where is King Hermon keeping her?”

Blood oozed up and out of a corner of the man’s mouth. His eyes remained open. Although his lips still moved, as if he were trying to say something, his eyes became grey, and vacant.

Mykal shook him again.

Quill placed a hand on Mykal’s back. “He’s dead.”

“The other guard?” Mykal said, hopeful.

Eadric walked toward them, using a thumb and finger to wipe blood from his blade. “The lad fought harder than I’d have expected. It wasn’t my intention to kill him. We won’t be getting answers out of him either, I’m afraid.”

Mykal stood up. He couldn’t see a point in getting angry. Questioning these guards might have saved them time. There would be more walking the halls. They would just have to be more careful, he supposed.

Quill stepped on the dead man’s stomach, pulled free his arrow, and re-nocked it on the bowstring. “We should move the bodies out of plain view. We don’t want someone coming around the corner and spotting them. Mykal, grab the legs. We have to lift him; otherwise we’ll leave a blood smear trail. That happens; we might as well just leave them where they are.”

The guard was heavy, dead weight. They carried him behind a pillar. It was an awkwardly tight fit, but they bent his legs so his knees pressed against his chest.

“Should hold him,” Quill said.

The other guard was a bloody mess. Eadric had run his sword right through.

They worked fast, pulling off the guard’s chainmail, and tunic. Mykal mopped up as much blood as possible with the tunic. He balled it up and tossed it out of the window. Quill and Eadric did the best they could by sticking the body in a corner blanketed with shadows.

The lightning strikes were more frequent. The thunder remained absent. It was something of an odd storm, far more common during the heat of summer. Mykal couldn’t recall anything like this so close to winter.

“It’s going to have to do,” Eadric said.

They began the hunt once again. Increasingly, Mykal felt apprehensive about the mission. Nothing was going their way. They had been running into obstacles since reaching the coast.

As quiet as they tried being, it was difficult. The stone floor made every step they took seem like an alarm. It was new to them, but maybe was second nature to anyone living inside the castle. That was what Mykal hoped. If anything, they’d come too far only to get caught now.

Once again, Eadric stopped walking. They were between lit torches. Mykal felt exposed. There were far more shadows by the windows, under them. Mykal pointed.

They rushed across the hallway, crouched low under the sill, and waited.

Someone was coming.

The sound of footsteps was different than before. Softer.

One person?

No. It was two. Definitely, two people were approaching.

“Don’t kill them,” Mykal said.

His breath caught in his chest when he heard a giggle, and he saw who the sound belonged two. Children, holding hands, walked the hall.

“Now what?” Quill said.

“Leave ‘em.” Eadric put his arm in front of Mykal, as if he thought his son was going to jump out of the shadows.

The chubby girls wore long nightgowns. One carried a stuffed animal. With short legs, they took tiny steps, and whispered as they passed the men hiding under the sill.

“That was close,” Mykal said.

“And creepy,” Quill said.

Eadric started them out again, with Mykal and Quill behind him.

When they rounded the next corner, the hall opened wide. Although the ceiling was equally as high, the large square room seemed more spacious. In the center was a staircase leading up to a second level. There was a table in the center of the room on an oblong carpet. Featured on top was a gold bust of, presumably, King Hermon Cordillera. It was far less impressive than the tapestries mounted over the walls. Mykal knew they were used as much as for decoration as to warm the room against the cold mountain rock.

“Now what?” Mykal said.

“We need to find someone,” Eadric said. “This place is too big to search. We could spend hours looking and never find her. Morning isn’t too far off. We can’t be sneaking around the hallways then. The king’s people, his staff, his knights, they’ll find us easily. Then we’ll be the ones that need rescuing.”

“Go back for the children?” Quill said.

Eadric shook his head.

“Follow me,” Mykal said. He jogged through the foyer. Opposite the stairs were two tall, wide wooden doors. Without opening them, Mykal suspected they led outside. He ran passed the doors and down another hallway.

The lightning persisted, only the last flash was followed by a low rumble.

The thunder was catching up.

Without looking back, Mykal knew his family was right behind him. At the first door he came to he stopped and pressed his ear against it.

“What are you hoping to hear?” Eadric said.

Someone inside was snoring. Loud.

Mykal replaced his sword into the scabbard.

“That,” he said, and threw open the door.

A man and woman slept, butt to butt. The woman wrapped in a dark blanket, while the man shivered, and hugged a pillow. Moving fast, Mykal leapt onto the bed. The couple sprang up, pushed back, and sat against the headboard. The woman held the blanket under her chin.

The man said, “
Wha
—who are you?”

Mykal attacked like a wolf. His open hand fisted the woman’s hair. The blade was pressed against an exposed throat before the man beside her could react, other than throwing hands up in surrender.

“The king has a woman he is holding prisoner in this castle,” Mykal said. He whispered, but spoke with a harsh tone of voice. Spittle sprayed the man in the face.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said. “Please. Let my wife go. She’s done nothing to harm any of you.”

Peripherally, Mykal saw Quill’s bowstring pulled back to his cheek. The arrow was directed at the woman’s heart.

Eadric had closed the bedchamber door, stood by it, and listened for anyone approaching.

Mykal tugged on the woman’s hair. She shuddered, and moaned.

“If, if he had a prisoner, she’d be in the dungeon, in the dungeon.” The man stammered, but it was an answer.

“Where is the dungeon?”

Terrified, the man gave them directions.

Mykal drew his dagger across the sheets. He made the couple lie down, back to back. Quill used the strips and secured them together. The remaining two pieces went around their heads, forcing their mouths open. This way, they’d not be able to scream for help.

Outside of the bedchamber, with the door closed, Eadric said, “You could have given us some warning about what you planned to do.”

Mykal shrugged. “Wasn’t sure myself, until I saw them.”

“Now we know where to go,” Quill said.

Thunder boomed. Cracks of lightning lit the hallway as bright as a midday sun, and then everything went dark.

“Let’s move,” Mykal said, and for the first time, took point.

***

“There are two of them,” Mykal said.

The guards stood in front of a single door.

“I’ve got it,” Quill said, and raised his bow. He loosed the arrow, and immediately pulled another from his quiver, nocked it, and fired.

The guards dropped. The loudest noise came from swords clattering on the ground.

Mykal, and Eadric ran forward. Quill slung his bow over his shoulder. He pulled the arrows from the guards’ chests as Eadric opened the door.

“Stairs. They go down,” Eadric said.

“It’s dark,” Quill said.

“I’m not holding back anymore,” Mykal said.

Holding out his arms, his hands close together, Mykal caressed the air between his palms. A ball of blue fire grew and grew. The dark staircase glowed. There were torches on the wall, iron basins on the stairs. Mykal threw the flame forward, igniting the torches, and the coals inside the bowls. The room danced in cyan light.

“What if someone is down there?” Eadric said.

“Then,” Mykal said, and drew his sword, “they know we’re coming.”

Chapter 27

King Hermon Cordillera placed his royal red cape around his shoulders, affixing it in place with the gold chain that was taut across his chest. The chamberlain set the crown upon his head. Cordillera readjusted the crown; his fingers delicately touched the black iron and steel band. He took a moment once the crown was properly in place, and stared at his reflection in the standup mirror. He believed this was the last time he’d see himself as a mere king. Soon he would be emperor, picking up where the Emperor Henry Rye failed centuries ago.

He strode out of his bedchamber, and down the hallway toward the Long Room, his chamberlain in tow. He savored the sound of his boots as each step smacked on the rock floors, and the way the sound reverberated off the walls.

The important thing was displaying an air of confidence. Inside, he was exhausted. The night, although not over, had taken a heavier toll than expected. He’d never wanted sleep as much as he did now. His legs worked, carrying off his impressive stride, but it was mostly show. It drained additional strength every long step he took. Fluttering eyelids threatened closing on him.

He was an all-powerful wizard now, and the one thing he couldn’t do was resist the urge for sleep.

In the Long Room he would address the captains of his ships, and the captains of the knights taking the ships across the Isthmian. He’d been assured all of his vessels in the fjord were stocked and ready for battle. His armies were at the docks, boarding.

At the Long Room, he pushed open the double doors. His men, seated around the table, rose to their feet when he entered.

He stood inside the Long Room until the doors slammed shut behind him.

***

Mykal stopped his descent after a handful of stairs. The smell of death was almost visible like a mist rising toward him. There was the pungent coppery smell of pools of blood, and no mistaking the strong odors of feces and urine. The overwhelming stench Mykal most noticed was of cooked flesh. He could not picture the horrors waiting for them in the dungeon, but from the smells reaching his nose, unthinkable images arose. A knot twisted around in his gut, and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and dripped from under his arms. He breathed in and out of his mouth, and continued down the stairs.

The blue light from his fire revealed swirling clouds of dust, and smoke thick enough that a pass of his hand through the air only sent the soot into a frenzied vortex.

Mykal had never seen a room like this. King Hermon Cordillera was a sick man. The iron tools mounted on the walls, the shackles, and chains, and the various tables and thorny chairs looked surreal. He couldn’t help wondering if King Nabal had something similar in the bowels of Grey Ashland. The public hangings Nabal held were one thing. The Mountain King’s dungeon was something else altogether.

Everything around him became more focused, and Mykal saw more than the tools of the trade. He saw the carnage.

There were five bodies.

“I think we’re too late,” Mykal said. Breathing through his mouth wasn’t helping. He thought he could taste death on his tongue. The fetor filled his mouth.

Someone moved.

The body on the table.

Mykal stepped forward. He almost laughed. A sense of relief flooded through him. “Galatia!”

Her body looked broken. Covered in bruises and dried blood, he almost didn’t recognize her. Barely covered in a stained garment, Mykal removed the gag from over her mouth, and sighed in pain as he placed his fingers on cold, clammy skin.

“You came for me?” she said. Clear tears rolled from the corner of her eyes, streaked down through grime and blood.

“Of course I did,” he said. He was whispering, his face close to hers. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Eadric was at the opposite side of the table working his dagger against the shackle locks. He freed first her hand, and then her leg.

Mykal stood up and pressed his palm on the steel. It unclasped. He forced the one on her other leg off with a flip of his wrist.

“My hand,” Galatia said. She sounded very weak, and appeared unable to raise her arm. Mykal unrolled her fingers. In her palm was the amethyst the mermaids had given her as a gift. “I got it back from the king. I want you to have it.”

Her tongue lapped over dry and cracked lips, but did not seem to bring relief. Mykal wasn’t sure what she was talking about, other than King Hermon must have taken the pendant from her at one point.

“There is one more thing,” she said. “On the floor, there is a dagger—the one you retrieved from the Gorge Caves under the Zenith Mountains.”

“Matteo’s dagger,” Mykal said.

“He was your grandfather. I know that now Matteo was your mother’s father. The dagger is a perfect weapon for a young wizard. Keep it with you always,” she said.

Quill stepped forward. “Here it is.”