The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (56 page)

As the High King tumbled toward the ground, the helborn that were gathered around took to the sky and engaged the approaching dragons. The Warlord tucked his wings into a streaking dive at the palace. Now that Shaella’s death was avenged, only the Wardstone mattered to him. He could smell the power it radiated. It was beckoning him, and he was coming as fast as he could.

***

Falling, an unexpected warming sensation hit Mikahl like a blast from a furnace. It held steady on him as he tumbled, until he could feel his skin starting to blister. Suddenly he could move, but as he went to call the bright horse back into place he saw the frozen earth racing up into his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw out his hands to protect himself from the impact. Ironspike went spinning away. He slammed to a stop, expecting to either feel his body shattering on the icy ground or feel the blackness of death take him. He felt neither. In fact, he felt nothing at all.

He opened his eyes to see his sword lying on the ground only a reach away. He was hovering about a foot over the frozen earth. He tried to move but couldn’t. Then suddenly, as if he were being released from some invisible grasp, he fell the last foot. He impacted no harder than if he had fallen from a tree stump. Sensation raced back through his nerves and his body felt as if he had swum through the frozen sea then walked across a desert. His bones were still frozen, but his skin was burned.

It took him a moment to catch his breath and regain his wits. When he did, he grabbed his sword and felt its magical symphony blare into his mind. The amount of tingly healing magic it exuded through him was distracting. He turned quickly to defend against an attack, but he saw that he was well away from the wild new battle taking place above.

Dragons - red, blue, green, and even a white one - some with riders and some without, were in the sky fighting the demon spawn. He saw Hyden Hawk on the back of a massive red-scaled beast that could only have been Claret. He couldn’t remember his name, but he recognized the determined elf that was riding the shoulders of a smaller blue wyrm, too. Half a dozen others were engaged in the sky. Some of the dragons were viciously attacking the greater demons. They were doing some damage.

A large piece of something that was writhing and flapping came spiraling down and crashed into the snow. A great bellowing cloud of steam rose from it as hot brimstone blood met the frozen earth. Above, Claret spat the rest of it out of her mouth and roared. Mikahl took in what had landed before him and saw that it was nothing more than a single wing with a scallop of meat the size of a wagon cart attached to it.

Mikahl called forth the bright horse and took back to the air. He went after Hyden and Claret. Trying to catch up to the huge red dragon was akin to trying to catch a stallion while riding a mule. Mikahl was too torn over Rosa’s death to actually feel real hope, but he felt like they might be able to save some lives. Hyden looked like a child’s doll on a destrier’s back. His long black hair was flapping wildly out behind him, and his face was set in a determined grimace. The boney, triangular plates that ran down Claret’s spine were as tall as he was. Mikahl couldn’t see how Hyden stayed on as they banked and then dove, racing toward the castle, in direct pursuit of the Warlord.

Corva could do little more than hold on to the ridges in the fin-plate on the blue dragon’s back. The massive, yet quick, wyrm swept down across the demon horde and blasted huge swaths away with its liquid lightning spew. It dragged its razor-sharp, sword-long claws through the ranks of hellspawn as they went. Another blast of breath at a Choska sent the demon flailing into the face of the wall with a sickening smack.

Durge, on the back of the mighty green dragon, was big enough to use his leg muscles to hold on to the sinuous neck of his mount. He and the wyrm had landed in the wall breach and were deftly fighting back those dark, wingless things trying to enter the city. Lashing teeth and claws, and misty, poisonous dragon breath made most of them stall their invasion. Those that survived to get through met their end at the tip of Durge’s bladed staff.

Cheers resounded from the walls and in the streets as dragons came from everywhere, swooping, blasting and lashing the dark horde away from the refugees. Even though the streets were littered with the dead and dying, the dragons brought hope to those willing to take hold of it.

Claret veered off to snatch one of the greater demons out of the air. She did so effortlessly, like a mother dog picking up her puppy, only followed by a savage crunch of teeth and a blast of flame as she spat the ruined thing away. Edging back on course, the whole assault took maybe five heartbeats to complete, but it allowed Mikahl to catch up so that Hyden could hear him yelling.

“What’s your plan?” he called over the bitter wind.

Hyden had expected a friendlier greeting. He took in the stricken look on the High King’s face. He hadn’t seen his friend look that sad since they found Vaegon, or what was left of him, lying in the rubble of this very wall. He immediately figured that something had happened to either Lord Gregory or Queen Rosa. No others could affect Mikahl so strongly. He didn’t have time to dwell on what his senses picked up about Mik, though. Gerard was almost to Whitten Loch, and there was no time for emotion.

“Remember when you unleashed all of Ironspike’s power at once.” Hyden paused to adjust himself on the dragon’s back. Then he cast a spell so that his voice found Mikahl’s ears as if they were just standing and speaking to one another. “You made that thunder storm appear to drive the black dragon away from King Jarrek's men. Do you remember?”

“Aye!” Mikahl screamed back unnecessarily. “I remember.”

“I’m going to face off with Gerard, or whatever that blasted thing is now.” Hyden had to fight back a tear as he thought about the horrors his little brother must have been put through. “When I raise both of my hands over my head like so, do that again, but unleash all that power at me.”

“Are you mad?” Mikahl yelled. “Why not at that thing? You'll be killed.”

“Just do it, Mikahl,” Hyden commanded. “Swear to me you will.”

Mikahl didn’t want to blast his friend, but Hyden was insistent and looked as if there was some sort of method to his madness. He remembered thinking he was leaving Hyden to die once before. It was the last time he had seen him, yet here he was again. He had no choice but to trust him, so he gave his word. He tasted regret as soon as the oath was given because he couldn’t help but remember Hyden miscasting the simplest of spells and losing one of Oarly’s boots. There was still a goat somewhere that could no longer grow hair, too.

“Where?” he asked Hyden.

“Whitten Loch,” Hyden returned. “Right now.” Then Claret dove down like a streaking arrow, leaving the bright horse once again struggling to keep up.

Mikahl heard Hyden’s next words, too, even though Hyden hadn’t intended him to.

Hyden's voice grew full of concern, and then anguish. “Oh, Phen, no,” Hyden said. “No, don’t, Phen.”

Mikahl focused his gaze ahead and down into the castle’s courtyard. There, running from the palace steps toward the fountain pond, was Phen. Around him, elves and dwarven axe men were battling back the dark host, but Phen’s intention was obvious. The Warlord was wading into Whitten Loch, trying to find the place where the Wardstone was exposed. Phen was weaving his arms, casting a spell. Seeing him first, the Warlord sent a huge crimson pulse at the boy, then quickly turned and blasted another up at Hyden and Claret. Hyden nearly fell from Claret’s neck when he met the Warlord’s eyes—Gerard’s eyes.

***

Hearing the cries of “Dragon!” and “Hyden Hawk!” and the hope that filled those voices, Queen Willa rushed to her balcony and peeked out of the heavy oak sliding door to see what was happening. The last time she had chanced a look, her soldiers, the dwarves, and the Queen Mother’s elves had all been caught up in a brutal battle on her doorstep. She was surprised at how much ground her fighters had gained, but they were already losing it back to the fierce, evil creatures. When the palace’s entry was caved in, her personal guards, along with Telgra’s dozen guardians, had bolted the three of them in with a few of the most proficient sword masters. One of these men harrumphed at Queen Willa’s breach of security. She wasn’t supposed to be opening the doors.

“Hush your mouth, you big thug,” Queen Rosa said to him. “The queen has a right to see what’s going on outside.”

Queen Willa sucked in a breath and turned away from the sliver of daylight she had revealed. Rosa darted over to see what was going on. “Oh my,” she gasped.

A great, black-skinned beast stood with its leathery wings half open and stepped off into the fountain pond. Slick plate-covered flesh reflected in the rippling liquid. It strode, human-like, into the deeper water as if it were searching for something. It was a terrifying thing and it had eyes just like Hyden Skyler’s. It flicked its tail back and forth behind it, and its muscles rippled and flexed authoritatively. The Warlord towered over the men fighting around Whitten Loch. Easily twenty-five feet tall, it was only waist deep in the water as it neared the middle of the pond.

Rosa was glued to the scene until the top of a familiar head bobbed into view. She hadn’t seen Phen since he had recovered from his petrified state, but she recognized him immediately. Fear shook her to the very core as he charged out heedlessly to attack the massive demon beast.

Without thinking, she threw open the sliding door and charged out to the balcony rail. “No, Pin! NOOOO!”

Queen Willa’s guard and an elven swordsman roughly pulled her back inside.

***

The Warlord’s powerful blast rocked Claret’s body and she roared out in surprise. The blow was so heavy that Hyden feared it to be fatal. Claret tried to hold her path toward the palace but faltered. She was determined to help Hyden, though, so she let their crashing fall carry them over the fountain.

Hyden leapt from Claret’s back in mid-flight. He knew, and regretted the fact, that he could do nothing to help her or Phen. He had to stop the Warlord, no matter the cost. Why the fool boy was still trying to act like a hero after the last time, he couldn’t understand. This was the Lord of Hell, not a Zard ship. With only a flick of its wrist it had just knocked the biggest dragon in the realm from the sky. Hyden didn’t know what Phen hoped to accomplish. He'd hoped that Oarly’s death, and the events that had transpired at the Leif Repline, would have put some sense into the boy, but apparently not.

As he prepared his levitating spell to halt his fall, Hyden saw Mikahl swooping in on the bright horse to help Phen. The Warlord saw him, too, though, and in a sudden flash of realization, Hyden saw it all falling apart before his eyes. He wanted to shout out a warning but it was already too late.

Mikahl saw the swath of sapphire energy leap from Phen’s hands toward the Warlord. An instant after, the Dark One’s clawed fingers sent ten jagged bolts of lightning directly toward Phen’s chest. Mikahl forced the bright horse down and dove streaking like a crossbow bolt toward Phen. He had to knock Phen out of the way or he would be charred to a smoldering husk. He didn’t see the Warlord’s thick tail whipping around to greet him. The sound of his dead wife calling out Phen’s name in her unmistakably peculiar way distracted him from it. “Pin!” He turned to see her being pulled back into an upper room by Queen Willa’s guards, then tried to refocus his flight to save the boy.

He was utterly stunned. How could it be? Rosa alive and here in Xwarda? It was the last thought he had before the Warlord’s tail smashed into his face. His momentum saved Phen when he and the bright horse crashed into him, knocking him clear of the Hell Master’s lightning. In the process, though, Mikahl lost Ironspike, and consciousness, and was then blasted across the courtyard when the Warlord’s lightning hit him full on.

Hyden came falling feet first out of the sky with his arms held high for balance. The Tokamac Verge was in his right hand. He was ready for Mikahl to loose Ironspike’s power at him so that he could magnify it with the crystal and banish Gerard to the Nethers for good. But Mikahl was nothing but a heap of charred flesh, and Ironspike was still spinning to a stop on the blood-slicked cobble walkway near Phen. Hyden halted his fall with his levitation spell and came to a hover a few feet above Phen.

“Hurry! Put Ironspike in the High King’s hand!” he said as he turned to fight the Warlord. “Hurry, before it’s too late!”

Phen understood. The healing power of the sword could restore Mikahl if he was still alive. Phen grabbed the weapon by its hilt. It was so heavy that he could barely drag it, but he did so as quickly as he could.

The wizard and the Warlord met each other eye to eye, Hyden hovering a few feet above the surface of Whitten Loch, the thing that still had his brother’s eyes standing waist-deep in the pond. It was those eyes that arrested Hyden’s attack. In that brief instant of hesitation, the Warlord swatted him across the air like he was no more than a pesky insect.

Using the thrust of his levitation spell, Hyden recovered swiftly. He held forth the Tokamac Verge and cast a spell through it. Three sizzling rays, one crimson, one lavender, and one bright blue swirled out and into the Warlord. The powerful magic held him there nearly half a minute, sending violent shudders through his plated form. When the spell exhausted itself, the Warlord still stood. He was snarling, and a few curls of smoke were rolling up from his flesh. He turned and roared at the wizard, defiantly bathing him in a searing gout of dragon’s fire.

The crystalized tear drop hanging around Hyden’s neck protected him from the blast, but by the time the flames were gone, the Warlord had dived under the surface and was swimming toward the Wardstone.

As Phen dragged Ironspike’s blade across the bloody cobbles toward King Mikahl’s roasted body, something extraordinary happened. The blade became as light as a feather and a throbbing buzz filled his ears. Slowly, like the sound of an approaching bandwagon in a parade, the murmur turned into a melody. Then, all at once a full cacophony exploded into Phen’s head. The sensation was staggering and nearly brought him to his knees. The sound sorted itself out, leaving an angelic chorus shimmering over a powerful and rhythmic melody. Phen’s blood was hot. It tingled and pulsed in time with the music.