Severed Empire: Wizard's War (24 page)

***

Anna fell first. Mykal saw her going down. She hadn’t made a sound. There had not been a warning. He reached out a hand, certain he could latch on and prevent the fall, but his legs gave out, knees buckled and he collapsed onto the rocky ground beside his mother.

His eyes were open. He could see, but not clearly; a blur smeared the edges around his vision. Everything looked hazy and blended.

“Mykal?” Blodwyn said. His face was too close. All Mykal noticed were the hairs in desperate need of trimming inside his nostrils. “Mykal?”

Eadric was checking on Anna. Mykal heard his father say her name over, and over.

Coil, Quill, and Basin held the lit torches and encircled the others.

“He’s shaking,” Blodwyn said. “His eyes aren’t reacting properly to the light. Take the flame away. Move it.”

Everything went dark. Mykal thought he had gone blind. He tried yelling. His muscles didn’t respond, his mouth stayed shut, the words locked away inside his throat.

“Bring it back,” Blodwyn said. “Closer to his face. Not that close! Yeah. Nothing. His eyes aren’t responding.”

He could see. The torch returned the light. He thought he’d sighed. He wasn’t sure. Nothing made sense. And all the while, in his mind he felt something pulling at his head, or filling in his skull.

It had to do with magic. He couldn’t understand what was going on. Some realization was right there, though, right in front of him. All he needed to do was grab onto it, only his arms wouldn’t leave his side, and his fingers didn’t seem to work.

“What about Anna’s?” Eadric said.

Mykal was surrounded by darkness again.

“Move the torch back. Bring it close. No, she’s not responding right, either.”

“What does that mean?” Quill said.

“It could mean any number of things,” Blodwyn said.

“That wasn’t at all helpful then,” Quill said.

“The black part of the eyes should get smaller when light is introduced. It isn’t happening for these two. It tells there is an anomaly within them, possibly something wrong inside their heads,” Blodwyn said. “And for whatever reason it struck just the two of them.”

“They’re wizards,” Coil said. “Could that be why?”

“Why it only impacted them? Possibly,” Blodwyn said. “Maybe there is a spell? Like a wall they can’t walk past?”

“An enchantment?” Coil said.

Blodwyn shrugged. “I just don’t know.”

Mykal felt his lungs fill with air. He coughed and rolled onto his side.

“Mykal?” Blodwyn said.

On all fours, Mykal gasped. “My head is throbbing.”

Anna began coughing. Eadric assisted her as she sat up. “Nice and slow,” he said. “Take it easy.”

“My head,” she said, her hand pressed over her forehead. “I—”

“Something awful has happened,” Mykal said.

Anna nodded. “I felt it. I felt something horrible.”

“We need to hurry,” Mykal said. The pain subsided some inside his skull. “We’re running out of time.”

Chapter 21

King Hermon Cordillera opened his eyes, and blinked several times.

The face hovering above his was horrendous, but familiar. Ida. He often wondered, with all of the power she possessed, why she never altered her own outward appearance. That made no sense to him, none at all. Even if she just cast a spell to smooth her skin, remove the ruts and hide the wrinkles, it would make a world of difference. It was about more than vanity. Where was her self-respect?

“You passed out.” Her nose was so close to his face it almost rubbed against his nose. Her breath was hot on his face. It smelled of meats and tooth rot. The rancid stench filled his nostrils, waking him all the way up.

“Let me up,” he said, moving her away from him with the back of his arm. He rolled onto his side and lifted himself up onto an elbow. He looked at his hands, certain they’d been burned away. He thought all of him had been consumed by fire. It was not a dream. He knew haunting nightmares. Seeing his brother Jeremiah almost nightly, and not losing his mind was proof he could distinguish between dream and reality. “What happened to the dragon?”

“
Dragon
, Your Highness?” she said. She moaned; bones creaked and cracked as she stood up. She kept an arm draped across her stomach. When she winced, Cordillera almost asked her what ailed her, but thought better of it. She’d end up answering his question, and he really didn’t wish to know, or care for that matter. “There are no dragons here.”

“There was,” he said, sitting up. He got to his feet and waited for a moment before moving. He held out an arm for balance. He felt light-headed, and knew if he stood up straight too quickly, he’d topple over. “There
was
a shadow dragon. It attacked me, woman. It set me on fire!”

“Shadow dragon? I’m not sure what that is.” Ida looked around the dungeon, an odd curl to one side of her mouth. It wasn’t a smile, as much as grimace. “I assure you, my king, there is not, nor has there ever been a dragon down here.”

He wouldn’t be drawn into an argument. He knew what he saw, and felt, and smelled. A witch was not someone who could be trusted, anyway. Her enchanted contracted decree spoke in the forefront in his mind. There was no way he’d focus on that now, not with everything else about to happen. Once he was in possession of the wizards’ magic…

Pendora.

Did he have her magic? He held out his arms, and turned his hands over. “Did it work?”

“Give it a try,” Ida said.

Cordillera’s eyes looked over at Ida, and then back at his hands. He knew he was smiling. He felt like a child with the amount of anticipation filling him. “Well, how?”

“How, what?” she said.

“How do I test it? I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Try using words, commands. Imagine the power shooting out of your fingertips, or coming out of the palms.” Ida said.

He didn’t find generic instructions helpful. He closed his eyes for a moment. He searched inside his mind, looking for signs of power he hadn’t felt before. He was certain the change would have been obvious; an extra beat to his heart, or a tingling sensation in his chest. Something. Anything. There was nothing. “Command the power?” he said.

“It is worth a try. All magic is different. How it is used varies from one magician to the next. Most, however, use words to call upon the magic.”

“Like casting spells?” he said.

“Similar, yes.”

Cordillera walked over to the cage, the cell that contained the depleted Pendora, and aimed his hands at her.

The sorcerer cowed, scrambling back into a corner. She squatted, and hugged an arm around her legs, and covered her head with the other.

The king felt it then; it was more than mere excitement. His skin
did
tingle.

That was what he had been waiting for, some kind of physical sign.

He had no idea what words to say. It seemed like anything would sound ridiculous. In books he’s read the spells casted rhymed. He was not a poetic man. Although he could recall, and recite from memory, spells he’d read, he would not use book magic in front of Ida.

The word he wanted came to mind. He smiled, and said, “Burn.”

Brilliant red lightning shot out of his fingers. It zigged and zagged through the air, and struck Pendora.

It happened fast, in the blink of an eye.

The woman screamed. The volts encased her body. She toppled over, onto her side. Thrown into convulsions, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her bladder and bowels released.

Cordillera continued using his magic, watching as patches of her skin blistered, and popped. The oozing pus bubbled and boiled. When the hair on her head caught fire, Pendora was already unconscious. She might even have been dead.

The skin on her face slid off muscle and bone. Her eyeballs bulged before splitting open, spilling creamy eye juices over her roasting meat.

The fire spread fast. Her clothing caught easily.

In the background he heard someone crying, a woman.

Cordillera stopped the red lightning, restraining his power. He held his hands up near his face for closer inspection. He found it nearly impossible to believe what he’d just witnessed. He was filled with power. He was a wizard.

“Did you see that?” he said. The words were spoken out loud, and he was annoyed when Ida answered that, yes, she had seen that, but he was too overwhelmed for keeping his excitement contained. “I did that. Me. I did that!”

“Yes, you did,” she said.

Galatia was awake, and despite the gag in her mouth, she screamed as if she had been the one set afire. She wracked her body, bucking against the restraints. The iron shackles dug deeper gashes in her flesh. Fresh blood oozed from the wounds.

Cordillera spun around. Galatia was sprawled out on the table. “Shut up! Shut up!”

She was going to bear him a son, but he couldn’t bear her screaming any longer. He closed the distance between them in two quick strides. He raised his right hand, and was about to strike her across the mouth when Ida grabbed his elbow.

“Sire,” she said.

He pulled out of her grasp. He stared down at Ida, and didn’t care if she knew at that moment he’d kill her if she ever got in his way again. “Don’t ever touch me. Don’t ever interfere.”

He didn’t yell. He kept his tone of voice calm, and cool. He was in control. Everything he did he wanted Ida to believe was calculated.

“She is ready.”

Cordillera backhanded Galatia. The blow made her head spin. There wasn’t much muscle behind the hit; it was the principle of the matter. He would not allow Ida the upper hand. “Then let’s get started. Where is the next talisman?”

Ida rolled her hands together as she shuffled into a corner of the dungeon. Next to the mirror there was a solid gold dagger, and a chalice. She lifted the dagger in both hands, held it flat over her palms, and slowly walked it over to the king.

“You killed her,” Galatia said. It came out garbled, but Cordillera knew what she said. He went up to her and tied the rag tighter around her mouth. If her words were clear enough, she could summon her magic. That was something he couldn’t let happen.

King Hermon took the dagger and inspected it closely. “This really is quite exquisite.”

“The dagger is gold. If you look at the blade, see the waves in it? That’s smoothed over dragon’s tears,” she said.

The king furrowed his brow as he looked at the blade a second time. “Dragon’s tears? That must be rare. This blade must be very old. Dragons have not been seen in over a hundred years.”

“Three hundred,” she said.

He didn’t question her. It didn’t matter. One hundred, three hundred, what difference did it make? There was no verified proof dragons had been sighted in the time he’d been alive. That was all that was relevant. “Who could have been so brave as to collect tears from a dragon?”

Ida’s lips puckered and she tilted her head to one side. “Eh, the question is valid. However, I ponder more on
who was so strong they made a dragon cry
?”

Cordillera considered her words carefully. There was something in what she said that gave him pause. He was filled with magic now. He knew as much, and swore that since he’d used the power he could now feel it inside of him. He thought he sensed it mixing with his blood and pumping through his veins and arteries. That alone did not mean he should act irresponsibly. Ida stated she would not be satisfied as a majordomo, as
his
majordomo, however her military sense with magic might make her a perfect fit for such a title. The key was not sharing the title with her; not making the mistake of calling her his majordomo. “And what is the other item over there? The chalice.”

Ida returned the dagger. She set it back down and then let a finger trace the brim of the chalice before she picked that up. “This chalice was found in the haunted catacombs under Castle Deed,” she said.

“It was the last talisman the others collected, before we ambushed them by the Balefire River,” Cordillera said, reflecting for a moment on the memory. He had found Ida not far from that location, just beyond the Muye Mountains, basically squatting in a tent in the valley. “Let’s start with this one.”

“I’ll not help you,” Galatia said. Again, her words were garbled. It was clear that her tongue was shoved halfway down her throat, and pressed against the back of the rag. Yet, Cordillera understood her words. “You will never get me to help you!”

King Hermon snorted. “Are you serious, my lady? You’ve helped us already. Who do you think it was that summoned Pendora to the dungeons?” He pointed into the cell at the corpse of the deceased sorceress.

“I did not call Pendora!”

“Yes, you did.” Cordillera did not attempt hiding the mock in his tone of voice. “What? Can’t you remember?”

“You understand her?” Ida said.

“Can’t you?” he said.

“It had been a dream,” Galatia said, the bite missing from her words. “That was a dream. I didn’t call her.”

“You did. I took her magic. I killed her. And I have you to thank for it.” Cordillera raised the gold chalice as if making a toast at royal ball. “Now, we are going to have you help us again.”

“I won’t help.” There was no conviction in her statement. She sounded full of self-doubt, gagged, and bound, but full of self-doubt.

“Ida,” Cordillera said.

The witch stood at the head of the table Galatia was shackled on, and pressed fingertips against the sorceress’ temples. “I am not sure why you can understand her words. She is not coherent. I am putting her under now, taking her to a nightmare. Again, she will be forced to call on the owner of the chalice for help.”

Galatia drooled. Foamy spittle rose inside her mouth and ran down the side of her face, mixing with blood in her hair. The woman’s eyelids fluttered. Only the whites of her eyes were visible.

Ida murmured words Cordillera could not understand. There was timing to them, a beat. It sounded like a song, a lullaby.

***

A small girl in a short yellow dress stood in a corner. Her hair was long, curly, and covered most of her face. Holding a basket filled with white and red carnations in both hands, she said, “What are you doing down here?”