Severed Empire: Wizard's War (31 page)

Mykal stared at the remains of his grandfather. His heart swelled inside his chest. He thought of his mother. Although he never knew this man, he still suffered at the loss. The tears brimmed under his eyes. He swiped them away with his sleeve. “This never should have happened, Grandfather. I am so sorry I could not get here sooner. I am so sorry I failed you.”

Mykal held the dagger by the hilt, and quickly looked at the gold, forged in dragon’s fire. He dropped his old dagger, and sheathed the one from his grandfather.

“I’m going to heal you.” Mykal looked toward Galatia.

She shook her head. “It’s too late. It’s my time,” she said. “I’ve nothing left inside of me. I have no more to give.”

Mykal didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t let her slip away without a fight. He’d just lost a grandfather he’d never known. He wasn’t about to give up on his friend. “It’s my fault we didn’t get here sooner. You can’t talk that way,” he said. He used his sleeve and swiped away tears from his own eyes. “I can fix this. I can fix you.”

“I can’t do anymore,” she said.

He wasn’t going to let her give up. Not now. They were here. She could be saved, rescued. “Galatia,” he said, pleading.

Quill and Eadric combed through the carnage, checking the corpses. “What went on here?” Quill said.

“He stole magic from the wizards,” Galatia said. “He summoned them. He used me to call them here. They didn’t know. They came unsuspecting. They came because I called them. His ambush was horrific. They never saw the attack coming.”

Mykal glanced over his shoulder, took in the bodies on the ground. He knew that one of the two dead magicians was his grandfather; he might never know which one. There would be a better time for mourning. Now was not that time. His hand went instinctively to the hilt of his new dagger.

He shook his head. “Stole the magic? He has it now? It’s in him?”

“He has become very powerful. More powerful than you or I alone,” she said.

“We have to stop him,” Mykal said. “I need your help to do that.”

Her eyes were wide open, and stared into his.

Mykal waited, but she never blinked.

“Galatia?” he said. “Galatia!”

Eadric stood beside his son. “She’s gone.”

“I can bring her back,” he said, and stood up straight. He went to the foot of the table, placed the pendant in his vest pocket, and raised his arms above his head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in slow and deep. He held the breath for several moments, and then as he exhaled, his magic was released.

The smoke in the dungeon spun around in a crazy whirlwind. The blue flames flickered and swayed leaning toward him. The hair on their heads rose into the air. A charge passed through Mykal’s body. It was hot like an intense fire burning inside of him. It started at his toes and passed through him like a flash of lightning. Brilliant blue bolts shot out of his fingertips. They zapped Galatia’s limbs. Her arms, legs, and torso bounced on the table. All of her vibrated, and contorted in unnatural angles. She almost fell off the table before Mykal finally stopped.

Quill stepped forward. He lowered his head near her mouth, and listened. “She’s not breathing.”

Mykal said, “Stand back.”

He called on his powers again. He aimed everything he could at her chest. He wanted her heart restarted. The bolts pierced her chest. Once again her body flailed on the table.

The sustained charge flew from his hands and filled the sorcerer.

This time Eadric checked on Galatia. He listened for breathing, and placed a hand on her chest to see if her heart still beat. “She’s gone, son. You tried. You did everything you could.”

“Karyn had been a healer. That might be the difference,” Quill said.

Karyn
. She had brought Mykal back to life. In doing so, she had sacrificed her own. She had acted selflessly, believing that Mykal’s purpose had been greater than hers.

Mykal’s legs gave out. He fell hard onto the ground, and onto his back. His eyes closed, and a welcome darkness overcame him.

Chapter 28

King Hermon Cordillera led his men on horseback through the narrow, snaking trails of the Rames. He could not ignore the regal feeling filling him. He rode with his head high. The need for sleep still persisted, but wasn’t as strong. Once on his ship,
Shadow
, maybe he’d sneak into his quarters for a bit. He may not need the rest. The adrenaline coursing through him was uplifting, powerful.

The black sky lit with flashes of white lightning. Thunder boomed, drowning out the sound of horse hoofs on the stony path. No rain fell, but the wind had picked up considerably. Cordillera’s cape flapped, waved, and snapped behind him in the cold, constant gusts. Ahead he saw white caps on the Isthmian Sea, and imagined swells growing by the minute.

His fingers tingled. The sensation circled around and around in his palm, and then shot up his forearms. He gripped, and re-gripped the reins, to no avail. Magic was going to take getting used to. In all of his wildest dreams, he never expected the power to surge through him the way it surged now.

His eyes felt the most sensitive. The darkness between flashes of lightning was not so dark. There was a glow around everything, and a radiating red that enveloped living creatures. He wondered if wolves hunting at night saw things this way. He thought he was like a nocturnal predator now. The magic had enhanced more than his sight. His hearing improved. Off to the left he heard a snake slither between rocks, and in a nest above, falcons moving about. His mind reached out and touched on the thoughts from his captains. It was a boggled mess at first, but once he could differentiate between inner voices, he was able to place names and faces with views.

His men were afraid.

Fear was acceptable.

They were headed into battle. Not all of them would return.

He combed through their emotions, searching for anyone who considered his actions uncalled for or evil. Treason would not be tolerated. So far, he hadn’t picked up on traitors in his midst. Fear was the theme they shared.

He wasn’t afraid.

He was their king, their leader.

There wasn’t room for fear.

They didn’t know who it was they followed into war, either.

He wanted to tell them.

They wouldn’t believe him. People needed proof. If they couldn’t see something, witness it first hand, they doubted.

He would show them what he could do. Just not yet. The time would come.

When it did, that would put their minds at ease. They would shed fear like a molting snake slithering out of old skin.

They would raise their swords in unison and stand with him, unafraid.

That was what he would do for them. He would take away their fear.

It wouldn’t be magic he used, either.

They would witness his amazing power, and their fear would vanish.

Gone.

That would be the best part of his ruling, having the support, and loyalty of his men because they wanted to pledge it toward him, and his cause!

And
not only
because he made them follow him.

He almost heard the cheers from his subjects, from his knights, as he removed his iron and steel crown as king of the Osiris Realm, and replaced it with a new, more impressive crown as emperor over the four kingdoms!

His lifelong obsession with ruling, with righting the death of his brother, was coming to fruition.

***

Mykal opened his eyes. He was moving. It felt as if he was floating. The toes of his boots kicked against stone stairs. Quill and Eadric carried him. They groaned and grunted.

“I’m okay,” he said. He knew his words were spoken softly. He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him.

At the top of the staircase, they stopped.

“I can stand,” Mykal said. He wasn’t sure if he could, or not. He wanted to try. They released him, slowly, holding him in place until he had balance. “I’m okay.”

“You scared me,” Eadric said. “Quill explained using magic wears you out.”

“I felt like a castle wall dropped onto my head,” Mykal said. There was a dull throb inside his skull. The backs of his eyeballs ached. He would love keeping his eyes closed. “Where are we?”

“We need to get back to the servants’ quarters,” Quill said.

“The castle’s too quiet. I don’t like this.” Eadric looked around. His jaw moved back and forth grinding his teeth. “Dawn is fast approaching. There should be more activity in this castle by now. Servants cleaning, chefs cooking, something. And yet the place is as silent as a tomb.”

Mykal sensed the urgency in his father’s words. He was blanketed by his own failure. If they could have arrived sooner, he might have saved Galatia. They’d wasted too much time reaching the Osiris Realm. No. That wasn’t accurate.
He
had wasted too much time. This was his fault. Three times he had failed Galatia. When she was taken, he hadn’t been able to stop King Hermon. When King Hermon tortured her into summoning the wizards, and siphoned their power, he’d been slowly making his way for Osiris. And finally when she died in front of him it was because he’d not been powerful enough of a sorcerer to bring her back. Galatia’s death was blood on his hands. No one else’s.

“Shh. Listen,” Quill said.

There was a buzz of activity. It was dim, but definitely came from toward the front of the castle. Eadric said, “The front foyer? Where the staircase was located?”

“Yes. It is,” Quill said.

“Then we should not go back the way we came,” Eadric said.

“My brilliant brother. Good call.” Quill shifted his attention. “Mykal, will you be able to walk on your own? Mykal?”

Eadric snapped his fingers in front of Mykal’s face.

“He’s not here,” Mykal said. “The king. He’s not here. He’s left the castle.”

“When?” Quill said.

Mykal shook his head, as if it would make the images inside his head more crisp, and clear. The images, however, were not inside of his head. He used his magic, reached out with his mind, and found the king. He was easy enough to track down. The king’s power was as bright as a lighthouse beacon. It glowed once Mykal knew what to look for.

Mykal planted himself inside King Hermon Cordillera’s skull, and shared space looking through his eyes.

The Mountain King either sensed something was wrong, or was aware of Mykal’s presence, because all at once he fought the mental rape with magic of his own.

A surge of power left the king, and shot straight for Mykal. It moved like a slender cloud of black smoke, slithering and moving like a snake past the knights following the king, and back toward the castle. It traveled with speed, but not stealth, up the path Mykal had created when finding the king.

Mykal felt the king’s approaching presence in waves as if cold, wet slime traced over his limbs, and immediately broke the connection. It seemed like the link was severed just in time; just before King Hermon could tap into Mykal’s brain. However, the abrupt disconnect sent Mykal reeling backward.

Mykal’s father and uncle reached out and caught him by the arms, keeping him from toppling over. He was stunned and off-balance for a moment. He couldn’t tell if his feet were planted on the floor. His knees wobbled, and he felt light-headed. Behind his eyes he saw floating white and black spots.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Eadric said. “What just happened?”

“I was…” Mykal stammered. “I was seeing through the king’s eyes.”

“You can do that?” Quill said.

“Apparently so,” Mykal said. He took his hand away from his forehead. He attempted to stand up straight. The room still spun around him, but the spin was much slower. He didn’t think he was going to fall, at the moment, anyway. “They’re on horseback. The king and a few hundred knights. I saw them ride toward the river. I could see the river and the mountains around the inlet. No. I saw more than the river.”

“More?” Eadric said.

Countless times Mykal woke from dreams, confident he would recall the events that played out in his mind when he slept. Soon after waking, however, and like it or not, the details of the dream faded. They always disappeared, but never ventured far. Mykal always felt sure he could remember them, but like the rest they were utterly forgotten. “Ships. In the fjord are a fleet of ships. He has an army down there. He’s riding to meet them,” Mykal said. “He plans to fight with them.”

“The war is here,” Quill said.

“It will take us far too long to get back to the others, and then travel back through the caves. We don’t even know if Basin and Refler will still be waiting for us,” Eadric said. He didn’t mask his frustration, or his doubt.

“They’ll be there. They’ll be waiting,” Mykal said. “But you’re right. We’ve got to move fast. The thing is, the king knows we’re here.”

“He’s going to send some of his men back. He’ll have to,” Quill said. “If he plans to rule the Old Empire, letting you—a wizard —run loose in his castle is self-defeating.”

“How long do you think we have?” Eadric said.

“They were almost down the slope, close to the fjord. It’s going to take time for the knights to return,” Mykal said. “We have some time.”

“Then we’d better not waste it.”

The three of them sneaked through the hallways. None of them was positive on how to get back to the servants’ quarters. They were turned around, and discombobulated. The sheer size of the castle was daunting. The place was a maze; each hallway appeared identical to the last. Flags and banners with the king’s sigil hung between windows.

Mykal stopped walking.

Quill, and Eadric stopped, too, when they realized Mykal was no longer following them.

“Mykal?” Eadric said.

“I have an idea,” Mykal said.

Quill went to a window. “There must a hundred knights on horseback headed for the castle.”

“How close?” Eadric said, walking over to his brother. “Very close.”

“What’s this idea, nephew?”

Mykal joined them by the window. He looked down at the men galloping toward them. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the castle, and knowing their way around, it wouldn’t take much for the knights to find them. “I am going to use magic and take us from here, to there.”