Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) (35 page)

“Gant, Zandinar, Abadis and Valdor,” Uric nodded to the robed stranger standing next to Abadis, “will accompany me to the tower in Pogor.  We will close the gate if we can.  Lord Barkmar and his troops will ride to Chamber Pass to reinforce those already there and ensure that Varg’s hordes do not get through the Monolith Mountains. Amelia will go with them as scout.

“King Tirmus and the Knights of Netherdorf will join King Herzolt’s army and return to Netherdorf to recapture it, retrieve the weapons stored there, and restore Tirmus’ crown.  Sarona will journey with an honor guard to the home of the High Elves to cement the peace between their peoples and insure we fight together against this foulness.  Any questions?”

The room remained silent.  Dalphnia spoke up from behind Uric.  “What about me?  I’m going with Gant.”

“No,” said Gant, spinning to face her. 

“We had hoped,” said Uric turning graciously to the nymph, “that you would take your trees to help block Chamber Pass.”

Dalphnia started to protest.  Gant’s hand closed softly over hers.  She hesitated and Gant read her eyes, saw her fear that she would lose him again.

“You cannot help us,” said Uric gently, “and your presence would give our enemies a hostage worth taking.”

She considered the options and nodded.  “If it must be,” she said and squeezed Gant’s hand.

“I’m going with you,” said Pris flatly, pushing his way up to the table.

“No,” said Kalmine, reaching for the emperor’s elbow.

“Yes,” snapped Pris, a bristling determination in his blue eyes.  “I am the emperor.  I will decide where I go. If this is not successful, my empire falls, too.  It is my duty to see that it succeeds.”

Kalmine stepped back.  A look of surprise widened his eyes, a half grin frozen on his lips.

Pris laid one hand on the old man’s shoulder.  “You have been as faithful and loyal as any man could ask. Take Captain Hesh and the men and give Lord Barkmar whatever support you can.  When I return, we will go to Malathon and set the Empire back to rights.”

The old man's wrinkled brown face smiled briefly.  “As you wish, Majesty.”

Uric turned his attention back to the assemblage.  “Then it is set.  Go swiftly, and pray for our success.  Good luck.”

Uric spun from the table and started for the door.  He whispered to Gant as he passed, “Make your farewells short.  We must go now.”

The room emptied quickly as everyone hurried to their assignments.  Lord Barkmar and Sarona remained beside the table, carrying on a last minute strategy discussion. Gant hugged Dalphnia.  An emptiness filled his heart as he pushed her to arm’s length.

“I waited so long to see you again,” he said.   “I worried that I would never see you again, and now we are already saying goodbye.  I’ll miss you, even if I’m only gone a few hours.  I love you.”

“And I love you, Gant.”  She hugged him.

“Goodbye,” he said. “I’ll be back.  Tell my father and mother I said goodbye.”  He kissed her once and swept past her out of the room into the hallway and then on into the castle courtyard.

Outside, Gant saw Abadis and Valdor already outside the castle walls, moving steadily down a rocky slope toward the flat shelf where Dalphnia’s forest had taken root.  There was no sign of Uric, Pris or Zandinar. Gant ran to catch the two wizards.

“Abadis,” hailed Gant.

“Ah,” said Abadis, turning his head, but not stopping.  “I thought you’d be along soon. This is Valdor, High Wizard of Enchantment.”

“And you are Ironlimb, the Devonshield Champion,” smiled Abadis’ companion.  “I always admired you swordsmen. Having been a weak child, it seemed so dashing.”

Gant nodded, not sure what to say.  It seemed like ages since he’d won at Devonshield, hardly worth mentioning now.

“Where are you going?” asked Gant.

“To the trees,” said Abadis.   “Uric still doesn’t like to change form in public if he doesn’t have to.”

“What about the tower in Pogor?  What will we do there?”

“You will kill Varg and we will close the gate,” said Valdor.

“How do you know I can kill Varg?”

“Well, if you can’t, no one can,” answered Abadis, a quiver in his voice. “Just as we don’t know if we can close the gate.  But, we must try.”

“And for that we’ll need Uric’s help.  Spells that powerful are beyond our ability alone,” added Valdor.  “And if I’m right, Uric will have to assume man form to cast the spells we need.”

Abadis’ brow wrinkled in thought.  “I’m not sure about that.  I guess we’ll leave that up to Uric.”

By now they were nearly to the trees. The trunks were widely spaced and between them Gant saw Uric’s massive gold-scaled body squatting in the shade, his wings gently fanning the air.

“I thought you said there were five wizards,” said Gant, remembering Abadis’ earlier promise.  “Where are the others?”

“Couldn’t find them.  I’m lucky I found Valdor.  Without them we will need Uric to aid in the spell casting.”

“If we had more time, we might have found them,” said Valdor.  “I’m glad you found me. In some ways I feel responsible.  If I’d been more understanding, Razgoth would still be studying at my keep.  Things might not have come to this.”

“It would have been someone else,” said Abadis, waving off Valdor’s self-reproach.

“I hope his soul is at peace,” said Valdor.

They went through the trees and found Pris and Zandinar already perched atop Uric’s broad back.  Zandinar sat stoic, grim faced, silent.  Pris, on the other hand, squirmed fitfully, consumed by nervous energy.

“Hurry,” boomed Uric.  “Time grows short.”

Gant helped Abadis and Valdor up onto Uric’s back and climbed up himself.  He sat straddling a large, raised scale and hung on with both hands. Immediately they were airborne, winging westward toward the blazing sun that sank ever lower near the horizon.  They flashed above the rugged, snowcapped Monolith Mountains.  The cold air whipped past Gant’s eyes, bringing tears and then blowing them away.

Despite the biting cold, Gant looked down at jagged slabs of black rock that shot skyward.  It was nature’s massive sculpture laid out below him like tiny sand castles on the beach.

Gant glanced at the others.  No one else was paying attention to the rugged beauty.  They were all intent on preparing for what lay ahead.  Clutching a ridged scale, Zandinar sat silent and stiff, almost trance-like, his right hand on his sword, his lips moving imperceptibly. Gant heard the warrior beg for the strength to fulfill his task.

Abadis, Valdor and Uric discussed the gate and how to close it.  It was too much magic for Gant.  Pris fingered the hilt of his elfin sword and Gant heard soft whisperings from the sword floating in the rushing slipstream while Pris mumbled strange words in the language of magic.

There was something different about Pris, thought Gant.  The boyish mischief was gone replaced by cold determination.  Something so far beyond his thirteen years that Gant wondered if it were truly Pris.  But then Gant couldn’t see the hard edge in his own face.  His mind replayed so many things.  Mostly he thought about the spreading horror.  He swore that Dalphnia would never feel that darkness.

They crossed the mountains and Uric descended to a warmer altitude.  Abadis chanted arcane words and Gant noticed that they no longer cast a shadow.  He turned to the mage, eyebrows raised.

“My new version of invisibility,” said Abadis with a hint of pride. “It would be best to surprise them.”

Valdor looked down, noticed the missing shadow, and began questioning Abadis about the specifics of the spell. Gant sensed that this was new magic to the older wizard, something worth learning.

Gant turned his attention back to the ground.  In the fading light, he saw desolation from horizon to horizon.  Huge areas of once rich grasslands were burned black.  The stench of sun-baked rotting flesh rose on the night air.  It burned his nostrils forcing him to breathe through his mouth.  Clusters of dark, hulking shapes roamed the plains.  Occasionally hellish shrieks wafted up to his ears.  Fires burned out of control and thick columns of black smoke rose skyward, their tops tinted red by the sun’s fading rays.

Night swallowed them as they raced unerringly past black shapes that patrolled the skies.  Yet no alarm was raised.

Swiftly the ground flashed below and soon they were over the remains of Pogor.  Small pockets of dull red embers cast a hellish radiance over the crumbled and broken sandstone that had once been a magnificent city.  Strange beasts slithered, crawled, walked and flew around the corpse that was Pogor.  Now Uric zigzagged to avoid hurtling black shapes that leapt out of the gloom like caricatures in a fun house.  Here and there Gant caught the frozen death smile on a skull as it flashed past.

As frightful as the winged nightmares were, their images were forgotten at the first sight of the main tower of Pogor castle.  The top of the tower had taken on a black pulsating aura that even the glow from the city’s ashes failed to illuminate.  Gone were the glorious reds and yellows of the once beautiful stonework.  Now only death and evil radiated from the tower.

As Uric glided toward their target, Gant saw a huge hole blasted through the stone wall on the upper floor.  Circling the tower they sailed past the opening. Gant glanced inside.  An amorphous cloud of living blackness disgorged a stream of indescribable creatures, each bowing to Varg as they entered this universe, groveling and swearing fidelity as they thanked him for deliverance.

Finally Gant knew his adversary.  The demon was huge, tall and broad with four arms and heavily muscled legs.  He was black as midnight with flaming red eyes.  His ears, much like the Dark Elves, swept up into miniature wings.  He was horrifying.

Fear wrenched at Gant’s chest as he witnessed the horrors.  There were so many, his party so few.  How could they stop this?  How could they stop Varg?  There wasn't time to think.  Uric folded his wings and shot straight through the opening in the side of the tower and glided into the chamber. Abadis and Valdor began chanting strange verses.  Gant, Pris and Zandinar drew their swords.  This was it.

Chapter 46

I
nside the tower, Uric landed near the wall opposite the jagged hole.  The room was large enough that even as a dragon, Uric wasn’t cramped.  His riders slid off and Uric regained human shape.  Immediately he took up the spell recital that Abadis and Valdor had begun.  The wizards retreated with their backs to the wall while the three swordsmen moved out in front as a protective screen.  Gant peered around in the inky, unnatural darkness.  A faint red glow emanated from the pulsating blackness of the gate between planes.  Varg stood on the other side of the portal from Gant, his sweeping black ears turned up like miniature wings, his eyes burning with evil.

At Varg’s feet, having just crossed over from the dark realms, a horrible multi-armed, octopus-like monster knelt in homage. On either side of Varg stood massive, man-shaped creatures with four arms that ended in hooked talons.  In the portal, lined up as if painted on some mystic canvas, stretching as far as the eye could see, were more apparitions waiting to enter the world of men. There were demonic man-shaped beasts, black flyers, and snake-like monsters with multiple heads.

To Gant’s left was a wide stairwell cordoned off by a stout metal railing.  Two knights in dark purple armor guarded the entrance to the stairs.  The men, if that was what they were, had dark faces and pure white eyes. Gant was surprised to realize that the one on the right was Wendler.  There wasn’t time to consider how he got there.

For an instant, activity in the tower ceased. Varg turned his head slowly until he glared straight at the intruders.  Hatred flared brighter in his red eyes, a sneer spread across his lips.

“You’ve finally come,” he said, his voice a low rumble.  “It will do you no good.  You will die here, Dragon King, and the world will be mine.”

Behind Gant, Uric, Abadis and Valdor chanted in unison. On Gant’s left, Pris stood firm, Thantalmos in his hand.  The sword’s voice growing louder and louder like a rising hurricane wind.  On Gant’s right, Zandinar kept his eyes glued on Varg and took a half step forward, firm resignation on his face, his sword held before him, its blade glowing with a mysterious white light.  Gant held Valorius tightly, the magical blade pulsating with its own light, brighter and brighter until the room blazed with a blinding brilliance that swept away the gloom.

As Gant watched the octopus-thing slithered to the stairwell and started down while yet another creature stepped through the gate and bowed to Varg.  An intangible fear wrenched Gant’s guts.  There was no time to linger in that fear, no time to think.  Gant reacted.

“Pris, Zandinar, take the gate. Stop any more of those things from getting through.”

At the same time, Gant rushed Varg, intent on driving the demon away from the portal.  The Demon-Prince stepped back and waved his two massive guardians to attack.  The slayers surged in front of Varg.  They leaped at Gant, slashing the air with multiple hooked razors. Gant back peddled drawing them away from the portal while keeping himself between them and the wizards. 

From a safe distance, Varg chanted words of magic.  The air crackled with the polarized energy from opposite forms of magic. Varg pulled energy from darkness while Abadis, Valdor and Uric called on forces of light. 

Pris and Zandinar circled behind the monsters attacking Gant and reached the front of the portal just as two creatures were stepping through. Pris and Zandinar’s swords cut them down, slashing in a blur.  A hiss of surprise ran through the creatures waiting on the other side of the portal and the line shrank back.  Pris’ sword shrieked with an ear-splitting wail.  Gant wished he could hold his ears to stop it.

Uric, Abadis and Valdor completed their spell in sync.  A glowing, shimmering wall appeared, molding itself into a domed enclosure around Varg.  Varg’s spell fizzled inside the positive energy sphere.  Frustrated, he ripped at the magical barrier with his claws.

Meanwhile, the two four-armed monsters encircled Gant. The first rushed in, slashed and retreated.  The second circled to Gant’s right. Gant ignored the second slayer and stabbed straight at the one in front of him.  It swiped at the sword, trying to knock it aside. Gant twisted Valorius just as Zeigone had done at Devonshield slashing down on the creature’s forearm.  Valorius bit into the sinewy, black muscle.  There was a flash of light and the sword severed the thick limb.  Gant watched the quivering claw fall to the floor in a gush of blood.

Just then Varg ripped through the force field.  A glittering sprinkle of dust floated down where the sphere had been, disappearing before it reached the floor.  Varg roared at his cringing minions still beyond the gate, his guttural voice urging them to attack.

Gant cut through a second arm and then twisted the blade to reverse his stroke.  Valorius sliced into the beast’s side.  Screaming it tottered backward and slumped to the floor.  Behind Gant, the two wizards and the dragon unleashed a second force field around Varg.

At the same time, the massed line on the other side of the planal gate rushed forward.  Pris and Zandinar set to work, cutting down the creatures streaming through the portal.  Pris’ sword screamed so loud it didn’t seem possible that it could go any higher, yet as the masses pressed against him, the pitch rose another notch.  Like waves upon a rocky shore, the charging beasts broke over the two stalwart defenders.  Bodies piled up.  Pieces of limbs, heads and gore oozed out across the stone floor.

While they plugged the portal, the second slayer leaped at Gant, crashing into him on his exposed right side.  The beast raked Gant with inhuman strength. The magic armor held against the vicious claws, but the weight of his attacker bore Gant to the floor.  He rolled with the force trying to shed the beast.  It didn’t work. Its bulk pinned Gant down. Sparks flew as the claws flailed away at the Gant’s helm, snapping Gant’s head back and forth with each swipe. 

Gant lashed out with Valorius.  The angle was bad and without leverage but Valorius cut into the leg sinews.  The slayer yelped but only lashed out harder.

Behind the beast, Gant heard Pris’ screaming sword coming.  Thantalmos flashed across the monster’s neck and with a sickening splat the monster’s head flew past Gant and bounced on the floor.  The weight rolled off of him and Gant staggered to his knees. 

Across the room, Varg raged inside the new dome, ripping holes in it with his talons.  The emperor whirled, a berserk rage in his eyes.  He charged Varg just as the Demon-Prince shredded the second barrier. Before the wizards could cage the demon again, Pris was on Varg, a maniacal fire in his eyes.

“No,” screamed Uric as Thantalmos came down on the Demon-Lord’s left arm.

There was a flash of light and a clap of thunder that shook the stone tower to its foundation.  A strange putrescence oozed from the wound.  Varg jerked back. Pris staggered as if he’d grabbed a lightning bolt.  Biting cold surged through Pris and the fire in his eyes dulled.  Thantalmos went silent, the edge dull and nicked.

Now Zandinar stood alone at the gate, holding back the tide.  Black flyers gathered at the opening in the outer wall, their screeching and flapping adding to the din.  Uric pointed to the black shapes wheeling outside the tower.  Abadis nodded.

Uric dashed across the tower and dove out into the black night sky, changing on the way out. Almost before he was through the hole, Uric’s body swelled, writhing in its transformation.  He hit the flyers as a gigantic dragon, snapping, ripping, and flailing away with his tail.  Before one of the airborne killers could land inside the tower, Uric scattered them in a wave of death.  Broken and twisted bodies plummeted to the ground.

Meanwhile in the tower, Pris fell against the wall, staggered by the terrible biting cold that hit him when Thantalmos struck Varg.  Gant saw Pris fall and guessed that Varg had the same chilling effect as Egog.  He put that thought aside and concentrated on what had to be done.  Abadis turned his magic against the creatures pressing to get through the gate while Valdor rushed to the fallen emperor.

Gant righted himself and warily focused on the advancing Demon-Prince whose wounded arm oozed slime.  Gant backed across the tower until he came up against the unyielding stone.  He gripped Valorius with both hands, glaring up at the towering black fury.

Varg paused a few feet away.  His ruby eyes flashed like beacons, the interior of his gaping mouth an intense, radiant orange.  There was a pale blue flash from behind Varg as Abadis cast a spell at the tide surging to cross through the portal. Varg glanced at the wizard for only a moment. Not waiting, Gant dodged to the right, trying to gain an advantage.  Doubts raced through his mind. How had Pris’ sword failed? Thantalmos couldn’t be that much weaker than Valorius. And maybe Valorius had lost too much magic.

Resolutely Gant stood firm.  Running wasn’t going to do any good.  He had to stop Varg to spare Dalphnia and everyone else.  Valorius had to do it.

Varg charged.  With a building fury, Gant met the rush.  He slashed at Varg’s ribs.  Valorius arced toward the target but before it reached the Demon-Prince the sword hit an encapsulating barrier. Valorius’ ancient power overcame the protective field in a shower of sparks.  The sword’s edge bit into Varg’s flesh.  The demon lurched back, screaming, teeth bared, eyes tight with pain.  Varg fought for balance, staggered momentarily, and then righted himself.

As Valorius sliced through the demon’s charcoal hide, a numbing sensation flowed like electricity up the blade into Gant’s right arm.  It was a cold worse than Egog, paralyzing each cell it touched.  It was the cold of a demon’s heart, cruel and ruthless.  In a split second it numbed Gant’s right arm almost to the shoulder.  By force of will, Gant pulled the sword free from Varg’s side only to watch it fall from his frozen fingers.  His right hand useless, Gant snatched Valorius out of the air with his left.

Varg snarled, circling warily.  Gant turned his left side to the demon, protecting his useless right arm.  Fear clouded Gant’s mind.  To kill Varg he might have to die himself.  The cold would be his end.  Gant backed up.  The demon pursued.  Varg slashed at Gant, his claws glancing off Gant’s armor in a shower of sparks, like steel on flint.

Varg snatched at Valorius.  Gant dodged but Varg caught Valorius under the crosspiece and jerked it from Gant’s hand.  The sword clattered to the floor.  Gant staggered back, crashing into the wall.  Varg lurched after him.

Behind Varg, Valdor helped Pris to his feet.  The dauntless emperor plucked the dulled Thantalmos from the floor and leaped at the demon.  Pris brought the silent blade down on the demon’s exposed back.  A clang like hammer on anvil rang through the tower.  The sword bounced off.  Varg whirled and backhanded the emperor as if swatting a fly.  Pris flew backward, hit the floor, bounced, and landed like an old rag. Gant ducked under the demon’s grasp, leaped to Valorius and snatched it up. Varg turned on Gant.

With Valorius in his left hand, Gant looked for an opening.  The freezing sensation in his right arm dulled his will.  Sleep, it said, sleep.  No, he wouldn’t give up.  Not now.  A flurry of images flashed through his mind, of the life he might have, of Dalphnia, of his parents. He could not fail them.

Blocking out his fear he rushed forward.  Valorius whistled through the air.  Varg dodged. Gant followed with an overhand slice and then a side slash, the sword a blur of motion.  Valorius struck Varg again.  The numbing cold swept up the sword, up Gant’s left arm.  Gant fought against it, willing his limbs to obey, forcing the cold away from his pounding heart.

Varg’s eyes dulled, the bright red fading. Gant pressed his attack, mindlessly hacking away, chasing Varg.

The demon retreated faster now, around the room, circling the black portal.  Gant pursued, swung and missed.  Varg leaped backward toward the gate.  Behind the demon, Zandinar turned his attention from the faltering line of creatures at the gate to the demon.  He drew back his sword with both hands and plunged it straight through Varg’s back.

Varg shuddered, screamed, his arms flailing behind him trying to reach the sword. Freezing cold clutched at Zandinar and he fell to his knees, still holding on to his sword.

Now Gant stabbed Valorius straight into Varg’s chest.  The demon screamed again.  Gant felt the rush of cold, weaker, but still numbing.  With his last strength he pulled Valorius free and fell backward with a crash.  Valorius’ light went out, the sword dulled to a dark gray.

Zandinar released his sword and fell over in a heap. Varg lurched forward, stumbled, and then staggered backward, Zandinar’s sword point sticking out of his chest.  Dark fluids spilled from gaping wounds.

Gant struggled to his feet.  He dropped Valorius, the magic gone.  He searched for something to strike Varg with, something magic.  There were no weapons left.

Meanwhile, Varg regained his balance.  He flailed away with his claws, slashing at Zandinar.  Gant dove for the demon, his mailed fists cocked. He hit Varg with his shoulder first, splitting the demon’s wounds open.  But Gant weighed nothing compared to Varg and his attack barely sent a shiver through the demon.  It didn’t matter. Gant had gone mad.  His fists hammered Varg, raining a staccato of blows on the demon’s face and midsection.  It seemed impossible but the magic in the armor sent flashes of light with every smashing blow.  Numbness trickled up Gant’s arms but he was beyond pain.  With each blow, the cold grew weaker.  Finally it stopped and Varg fell with a thud.