Black Kerthon's Doom (26 page)

"Remember what he said about a traitor?" said Serada.

"Yes, that's right. Someone inside poses a threat to Kerthon. Macelan perhaps, if he still lives. He would have been in the best position to find a weak spot in Kerthon."

"How do you think he is?" asked Serada.

"Macelan? I have no idea. But if it is he who has the Sorcerer worried then he must have survived with most of himself intact. It is impossible to know. I am sorry I cannot tell you more. I don't understand how Kerthon traveled in Macelan's body without destroying him like Kaell."

"Why has Kerthon rushed to Moorld?" asked Serada.

Neheva looked to Mira, but she turned away.

"I see you don't know. He has been close-mouthed. Wise, perhaps. Gareth is descended from Kerthon and there is much lore and power stored in Moorld. Kerthon does not wish Gareth to find it because Gareth can wield it. It must be desperation on Gareth's part for he had forsworn the power for so long."

"You knew all this?" Serada asked Mira.

"Most. I was bound to secrecy by my oath to Gareth."

"No more now, shh." Neheva said urgently.

High King Ransal rode by them and stared at Neheva but he did not stop. However, one of the soldiers stopped.

"I see you have found suitable company, Horeth," said Mira.

"Do not trouble yourself with taunts," said Horeth. "The situation is far worse than you realize. No one wins now, except for the Sorcerer. He fools no one with his Kaell disguise."

"But who would challenge him?" asked Neheva.

"Exactly." He spat. "I shall even find pity for Gareth. He will not be allowed the chance to die like a man. At least I would have given him that chance."

"Death is death," said Neheva. "It comes for everyone."

"Although you have cheated it for a long while witch," said Horeth.

"Too long, I'm afraid," said Neheva. "I know more of Kerthon than you and I shall receive his worst treatment."

"Death would be more merciful. If the opportunity arises I shall dispatch you three before the Sorcerer has the chance."

"You are too kind," said Mira. "Fall on your sword first."

"Now, I'm sure he meant well," said Neheva. "It just wouldn't be the choice we'd make."

"There is no escape," said Horeth.

"Still, we would like to face our fate on our own terms."

"Suit yourselves." Horeth rode after the High King.

"We may be able to make use of him," said Neheva. "He is not extremely bright and I may be able to control his mind with limited use of my power. I do not want to alert Scithers or Kerthon. Our chances would be nil, then."

She began to whisper and Mira and Serada drew closer.

"What are we waiting for?" asked High King Ransal.

"The proper moment," said Scithers.

"We have five hundred men and they have twenty or less. I do not understand."

"Patience," Scithers. "My master has waited for a long time. We shall wait longer."

"Well, I won't! I am the High King! I command!"

Scithers looked at the young man and Ransal fell to his knees, the air was gone and he was choking.

"You obey me, if you want to live," said Scithers. "I can kill you with a thought. I command."

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, Master," came the gasping reply.

Scithers turned toward Horeth.

"Take a small number and scout the castle. Also, release the rebel prisoner and allow him to reach the castle. Make it look like he escaped on his own."

Horeth paused and then looked at the dark sorcerer behind Scithers. The black hand pointed to the castle and then clenched. Horeth was suddenly short of breath and he stumbled away.

"Yes, Lord Kerthon," he gasped.

Macelan watched the dawn begin to creep over the hills. He rubbed his eyes. His thigh was black from where he had pinched himself to remain awake. He had sat up the entire night. He did not want to be caught by the wild people and strung up like Metra. The night had been very black and he had strained his eyes looking for movement in the darkness. The threat of the wild people kept him from fleeing towards the sea. The sea was the only thing that could protect him from Kerthon.

Now, as the sky lightened he could see that there were indeed shapes surrounding the camp. The wild people. There were a dozen of them, short and skinny, naked and dirty. They waited. Macelan started when he saw them, but they did not move. If he could not see them in the darkness then it was obvious they did not want to kill them all, for they could have done that easily.

Macelan did not say anything but he could sense Brice and Gareth stirring and then others too, were alert. The rebels armed themselves and stood back to back facing the newcomers. One of the wild people walked forward toward Brice. Brice stood up to his full height, his hand on his sword hilt and the small wildman hesitated. He laid a dried flower at Brice's feet and all the wild people bowed. Brice raised his arms and pulled them back in gesture of gathering the wild people to him. They bowed again, turned, and left silently.

"What was that about?" whispered Daura. "Why did they just go away?"

"They offered themselves to Brice," said Prosty. "And he accepted them. They believe he will bring good hunting and long life to them."

"Why did they kill Metra?" asked Macelan.

"There must be an offering every month and Metra was in the wrong place," said Brice. "The offerings have also diminished their population. I learned that much from them when I was here before. Metra was a substitute for one of them."

"They sacrificed their own people?"

"Yes."

"Will they bother us again?" asked Macelan.

"No," said Brice. "We shall not see them again. There are too few and no food. Their belief in my powers as a sorcerer will damn them."

"Just because you are tall like Kerthon was?" asked Daura.

"They believed I was powerful and I let them believe it to save our lives."

"Don't blame yourself if their beliefs cause them harm," said Macelan.

Brice looked at Macelan, started to say something but turned away. It was time to break camp.

Moorld loomed before them, a shell of the majestic castle it once had been, home of Kerthon, the King of the West. Tall battlements, now broken, had reached towards the sun, throwing their shadows for scores of yards beyond the gigantic gates, whose hinges were taller than a man. The strength of the structure was evident in subtle hints, but it was doubtful if it could defend anyone now. Pigeons walked its walls.

It was still daylight when they reached Moorld and Gareth and Brice explored the main level to find all the entrances to the castle. There were just two. The main gate which needed a huge beam to lay across it for a brace and a small door on the opposite side, which opened, into a bramble bush. The years had covered up its original purpose.

"We should be able to defend the gate but if they try to scale the walls we may have a problem."

"The walls are so high," said Macelan. "How could they do that?"

"Part of their training," said Brice. "Ropes, ladders, grappling hooks. We won't be able to keep them out."

"Can we hide from them?" asked Gareth.

"This was Kerthon's home," said Daura. "He would find us."

"If they try to wait us out, perhaps we can strike at night. Every night we could slip out and kill a few."

"No Brice," said Gareth. "After the second time they will storm the gate and we will be over run."

"What can we do?" asked Macelan.

"I must think on that. Brice, find the place where we shall camp. I will walk the top of the wall and plan our defense."

The outer walls were ten feet thick and bordered a courtyard on three sides. The fourth side was the castle itself and its sides rose two hundred feet above the sea cliffs to the first window and was immune to attack.

Gareth watched his friends leave the courtyard and enter the first level of the castle. He knew there was not enough manpower to hold Moorld against attack. The north wall alone was too long for them to stand on top of it to ward off attack. The soldiers would scale the walls in several places without hindrance. The battle would be brief unless Macelan could learn to control his sorcery. And if he could not then Gareth must pick up the gauntlet. He gazed down the valley. He saw the mountains to the south, barren of life and to the north, the great plains peppered with the odd tree, which led to the forest which once had been his home. Gareth lay down on the hard stone and rested.

Macelan sat with his back on the cool stone. Daura helped set up camp and determined how long their food would last. She gave this information to Brice while Macelan adjusted to his new surroundings. The ceilings were high and the shadows stretched up into blackness. But the air was not as cold as he expected, as cold as it had been in the tower.

"This place isn't as spooky as the tower," said Macelan.

"Kerthon hasn't been here for a thousand years," said Prosty. "Plenty of time for his presence to fade. I hope he left behind his books of sorcery."

"It comes from books?"

"Much of it, yes. Even Kerthon could not have learned all there is to know about his craft. He must have a source to refer to for his spells. I think I shall explore the upper levels. Care to come with me?"

"I think so. My leg has improved dramatically."

"Good. Together we shall find the mysteries of Kerthon."

Prosty told Brice what their plans were and he nodded. The wizard led Macelan up the main stairway to the second floor. The interior was dark and the steps crumbled in their age. Macelan peered down the black corridors but could see nothing.

"Dark, eh?" asked Prosty. He tapped his staff on the floor and the tip sparked into a pale blue glow.

"Better than a torch. Never goes out either." He led Macelan down a winding path to a room with a huge metal door. A large ring hung in the center of the door and Prosty lifted it and let it fall.

BOOM! The sound echoed throughout the interior and seemed to continue long afterward.

"I wish you hadn't done that," said Macelan.

"Me, too."

For all its weight, the door swung inward easily. The room was rectangular with a large desk in the middle of the room. Books and papers covered the desk and Prosty ran to the desk and began sorting through the mess. Many were so old that the book jackets crumbled at the touch. The smell of mildew was overpowering. Prosty cursed and slowed down and gingerly scanned through the rest.

"Who wrote the books of Sorcery?"

"Sorcerers."

"Who, specifically?"

"No one knows."

"Could a demon have written it, just to gain mastery over men?"

Prosty looked sidelong at Macelan.

"A demon? Your eyes watch different paths than mine. What did you learn from Kerthon?"

Macelan's face went dark and he turned away. Prosty watched him for a minute and then returned to his search.

"Have you found what you are looking for?" asked Macelan.

"No, but it must be here. Somewhere." He looked at Macelan briefly. "Tell me about the tower."

"I don't remember it clearly. I was a bit jittery at the time." The dark pain lurked just beyond his senses.

"What do you remember about Kerthon?"

"Please. Is this necessary?" Prosty could see the pain on Macelan's face and wondered if it was from the memory or if Kerthon put a spell on Macelan that would linger and drive him insane.

"I need to find out all I can if I am to be of any help," said Prosty. "I'm not a fighter. With a sword, I would cut off my own head. It must be my wizardry, which allows me to assist in the battle. I will not stand and watch a slaughter. If I find what I am looking for then I should be able to determine how to defend ourselves against Kerthon."

"How do you know he is coming?" asked Macelan.

"You should have paid attention to your history lessons. What is the connection between Kerthon and Gareth?"

"The throne?"

"Exactly. Direct descendant from the Sorcerer himself. If Gareth is here, then Kerthon believes Gareth will claim his birthright: the power of Sorcery."

"Will he?"

"How long have you traveled with Gareth? He has no interest in sorcery. If he had, do you think I would have been as vocal about my inquiries?"

"Could you tell me what it is that you're looking for? We might find it faster."

"Agreed. But do not pick it up if you see it. It is very dangerous."

"What is it?!" Macelan cried. He distrusted people who did not speak to the point.

"No need to shout. It is a small book, wrapped in leather with a triangular embossing on the cover. A dragon or something. Do not pick it up. Just tell me."

"Okay, I get the message."

They both searched the room but the debris on the desk was all that they found. Prosty cursed and began to look for hidden compartments but Macelan shook his head and sat down. They heard a voice call for them and Macelan left the room. Prosty waited, then pulled a small book out of the papers on the desk and slipped it in his shirt. He smiled and danced a couple steps. His time had arrived.

Macelan found Brice looking for them.

"Gareth has spotted company."

"Soldiers?"

"Yes."

"Kerthon?"

"Can't tell. If it is, he must have pushed them hard. How did he know where we would be?"

"We were where we had to be," said Prosty, joining them.

"Let's go," said Brice.

The trio ran down the stairs and into the courtyard. Gareth was standing on top the wall.

"Looks like they've stopped to camp. About a mile or so."

"Why do they stop?" asked Daura. "I expected them to charge right in."

"Don't know," said Gareth. "We might have to send someone out to scout. There's no other way to find out."

Brice strapped a short sword around his waist and left by the side gate that was not in direct vision of the soldier's camp. He ran east a short distance to the wild blackberry bushes and vanished from the sight of those in Moorld.

Brice was a quarter mile from the camp when he saw the first sentry who was young and nervous and Brice passed by him without incident. He stopped suddenly. Ahead was a figure moving quickly through the grass, peeking back at the camp as if watching for pursuit. Brice watched the figure discover the sentry, move around the young man, and begin to follow Brice's trail back to Moorld.