Black Kerthon's Doom (32 page)

He could hear more footsteps running down the stairs. He jumped to his feet and wobbled as he tried to return his senses to the real world. Sorcery use left him light-headed and he had to regain himself before he could use his power again. Suddenly, it was not as easy as he thought it had been. Running his hands on the walls for guidance. He left the room and ran down the corridor away from the soldiers. It was seldom that a castle had only one stair, one exit to a level and Gareth hoped Moorld was not the isolated example.

He was in luck. The corridor seemed to end at a stairway and the darkness was thick and musty. The torches of the soldiers would not reach him in the recesses of the corridors. He heard them coming but they could not see him.

Then he heard a call for the soldiers to return to camp. He did not understand it. They were clearly winning. He climbed the stairs slowly as he heard no pursuit from behind. Clearly, if there were soldiers looking for him they would be ahead of him.

He wondered if Kerthon had grown impatient and was preparing to level the entire castle. But what was the terrific rumble he felt and the scream he heard as he was running to join his companions? It had felt like the passing of something, but he had no clue as to what. Clearly, there had been Kerthon's influence in Macelan's eyes but that came after the rumbling. So he had no hope in that direction.

When he reached the upper levels, he found them empty. He ran to the battlements and saw the High King call his soldiers to him. There was no sign of Kerthon. Perhaps Kerthon was destroyed but he had idea how it might have happened. But the Calendian army was dispersing under young Ransal's command. Kerthon would have not allowed it. The field was clear of soldiers. The young High King was leaving. Where was Kerthon?

In the distance, a black shape walked to the north heedless of the death and soldiers around him. No one delayed him, no one spoke to him. The High King watched him for a time and then led his men back toward Nantitet. Gareth watched him also, remembering the figure at Kerthon's side.

Rumor and legend would have been enough to tell Gareth that it was Scithers who walked alone. Gareth saw his countenance behind Kerthon when the Sorcerer came to the gate. Scithers, the right hand of Kerthon would return to the tower, probably to attempt to revive his master once more.

Gareth decided to follow. The bitter taste of sorcery was in his mouth and he needed to know more. He had to find out how to sustain its power without tiring. There must be a way.

Before he turned from the edge of the battlement strong arms wrapped around him. He struggled but a second Calendian soldier stood in front of him with sword drawn.

"Well, rebel. This is the end for you. The High King may have decided to return to Nantitet but we have work to do first."

He was a young soldier and cruel, by the glint in his eyes. Gareth measured the strength of the one that held him and his eyes determined there were only these two in the area.

Quickly he summoned his power and the heat it generated made his captor release his hold. Gareth stepped forward and drove his sword into the other soldier then turned to face the one who had held him. The soldier had recovered and held a battle-ax in his large hands. Gareth tried to tease him into swinging the axe and leave himself vulnerable but the soldier would not bite. Then Gareth lunged and the axe came down and shattered the sword. Gareth continued forward and leapt upon the soldier who dropped the axe.

Gareth wound his fingers tight around the soldier's throat. The soldier tried to push Gareth off and when that failed, he slapped Gareth's ears simultaneously and Gareth rolled off him. He picked up his axe, raised it, and brought it down but Gareth rolled out of reach.

Gareth jumped to his feet, unsteady, ears ringing. He called his power once more, flames engulfed the soldier, and his cries were brief. Gareth stared at the charred remains. The sorcery had been stronger and the aftertaste was sweeter than before. Very sweet. He felt himself desiring more. He had suspected it would be intoxicating, but not so pleasant. It was very pleasant. He felt warmth and life coursing through him, refreshing him. There would be no peace for him now.

Scithers walked through the dry prairie without pause. His pace was not fast but he did not rest either in darkness or in light. Gareth tried to keep pace with him but he had not the endurance and soon fell behind. His feet were heavy and his lungs ached. He fell asleep and did not wake up for several hours. Scithers was beyond his reach. But he was sure of the destination.

Gareth moved with a single purpose. He no longer took notice of the landscape as he passed. He did not notice the family of prairie dogs, upright and watching him. He did not see the hawk, his favorite bird, soar above him. He no longer saw anything but his goal. The tower and the Sorcerer within it. The tower rose before him, glorious and golden beckoning him onward. There was a sweet honeyed taste in his mouth and he knew it was the tower and he had to have more of it. He walked long in the daylight, dropping to sleep quickly when he made camp. He no longer noticed his hunger.

The power he had wielded in Moorld filled him with strength and he knew there was much more to its use. Subtle variations of it eluded him and teased him on the edge of his consciousness. He had to know, he would know, there was nothing that could resist his power. He would have full use of his sorcery, he would banish the taint of his family, Kerthon, to infinity, and he would bring the Empire to its glory once more.

He lost track of the days and in his hunger and thirst nearly lost the strength to continue. But his mind finally cleared and he found some berries and water and he rested for a complete night. When he moved, again he was refreshed.

It took four days for Gareth to reach the woodlands near the tower.

He no longer knew his name. He only craved the power of the tower. Nothing else mattered; nothing else existed. He walked surrounded in a glow of sorcery, unseen by the natural world, walking mere feet from deer unaware of his presence. He had become power incarnate and his destiny waited.

The dark shape of the tower rose up out of the earth and welcomed Gareth back to it. He heard his name in the breeze and felt a longing for his home except the longing was now for the tower.

He walked over the rocky paths and over the deep shafts that had claimed many before him. He climbed to the gate and walked through the crumbling archway.

He entered its dark corridors, touched the black walls, and breathed in the dank musty air. Home. Then the voice began low and harsh and it rose in volume and crashed against his ears. He crept through the darkness in pursuit of the voice and found it in the deep room where Kerthon had summoned his power during his days of glory. There on a granite slab lay the black tattered body of Kerthon. The skin had been burned and torn and the body glowed with a sickly green pallor.

The room was low and wide and it held nothing but the slab, a pedestal with an ancient book on it, and Scithers, his arms raised and his eyes closed.

Gareth watched Scithers, who was standing behind the slab and weaving a spell. The words were unintelligible but the electricity in the room was substantial. The air turned foul and Scithers' voice cracked into Gareth's skull. Kerthon shuddered and his eyes opened.

There was a glimmer of sorcery near the far wall and it captured Gareth's attention. Colors swirled in a cloud and a shape began to emerge. It was not a human shape, Gareth felt a chill, an icy choking grip, and the spell was complete. The horned creature towered over Scithers, its wolf skull drawing close to his face.

"I have come," the Demon hissed. "Your spell is not strong. I must leave soon."

"Wargat," said Scithers. "Help me revive my master. He must crush his enemies."

"He has done what he must. There is another who shall serve me in his place."

"No! If Kerthon perishes then so shall I."

"That is of no concern to me," said the Demon. It wove a pattern of colors around Scithers immobilizing the sorcerer.

"Wargat! What are you doing?"

"The lamb to the slaughter. It is time for a new Sorcerer King. You are useless to me. I will not tolerate failure."

"Wait."

"No. It is time for the other to assume his mantle."

Gareth knew Wargat spoke of him. He would not pay homage to the demon and needed to seal him off from this world. To break Scithers' spell might be what he needed.

Gareth raised his arms and called his power to him and Wargat perceived him and fled. Such power Gareth never imagined. It swirled around him, roaring like a hurricane. Wargat was right to flee. The demon would have perished by the power of Gareth, Sorcerer King. Scithers stood as if petrified and did not try to defend himself. The white-hot spell flowed around Scithers and the body of Kerthon and in a flash, they both were gone. Gareth stumbled back against the wall. Power coursed through him, his head pulsed blood white-hot images flooding his mind. He was unaware of where he was and unsure of his name. He fought, desperate not to lose his identity in the swirling faces of his ancestors gathered together to witness his fate. After several minutes, his head cleared and he realized he was alone. He was free! Kerthon was dead at last, never to trouble his dreams again.

There was movement in the darkness, a mist of sorts beyond the slab where Kerthon had lain.

A voice came out of a cloud that swirled and dissipated.

"Look for me, Gareth," the voice hissed. "Soon you shall be mine."

Gareth wept.

The rain had finally stopped and Macelan leaned his head back to feel the warmth of the sun caress him. The rain had been a constant companion the past six days since Neheva had left them and they were all drenched to the bone. Macelan sat down under a tree and leaned against both the trunk and Daura who was dozing. They were waiting for Mira and Serada who had gone searching for berries and more important, waiting for Brice who had gone into Stormridge to secure lodging. Brice had many friends in Stormridge, he said, and they should find a safe house. In Stormridge, the threat was not from soldiers who would never travel so far into the mountains, but rather from the wild and cunning hunter who would sell anything to anyone for a price. Stormridge was the home of Chraset. If there was a chance he escaped Moorld, then he would find them here. But there was no chance Gareth escaped and the taste in Macelan's mouth was bitter.

The memory had returned to him bit by bit in dreams as they journeyed north. At first, it made no sense with the memory he had of Gareth's last moments and then it hit. He had deliberately shut Gareth off from freedom and sealed his doom. There was some blackness in Macelan that had risen to kill Gareth. It was the touch of Kerthon. Macelan knew the power he carried was a curse. It promised everything and destroyed all. And it had done nothing to save them. He did not need it nor want it. But it was there and so was the taint. He would never be rid of the Sorcerer.

He could not tell Daura. He had wanted to tell her at first but only briefly and then the darkness flickered in warning and he kept silent. He did not understand what had happened to himself and he was afraid.

The power had not left him when Kerthon's stone was crushed by Brice and Neheva. Perhaps it was now part of him or else Kerthon was not wholly destroyed.

He watched Daura as she slept. He could see some resemblance to Gareth in her face despite the age difference and he wondered if she held the same potential Gareth had. It was said that Gareth was a descendant of Kerthon and held the potential for sorcery that was in every generation of his family. The power was real and drove the Sorcerer King to destroy his descendants. Although Kerthon's own hand did not kill Gareth, the Sorcerer King caused Macelan to shut the door to escape from Gareth and left him to certain death in Moorld, Kerthon's castle.

And now Gareth was gone. Daura had not spoken of her brother since they left Moorld but the dark circles under her eyes and her lack of appetite gnawed into Macelan's heart. He could not bear to see her suffer, but he could not tell her what he had done.

"Good luck," said Serada, who walked up to Macelan with a hat full of berries. "Raspberries. My favorite."

"Daura! Wake up!" cried Mira. "Eat all you can."

"I'm not hungry," she said softly. "I just want to sleep."

Mira looked at Macelan who gestured helplessly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Mira. "You must put it behind you."

"How?" Came the murmured reply. "Gareth raised me. He was not just my brother, he was my mother and father too. What hurts worst is that he had the same fate as our father, something Gareth swore he would avoid. I watched him struggle against himself all his life. Sometimes it was bad. He suffered terribly, but he never gave in. He fought hard."

"He wasn't killed by the curse," said Mira. "It was soldiers."

"But it was because of the curse that they sought him."

"Curse?" asked Macelan.

"The potential for sorcery was called a curse by Gareth's family since it was recognized for what it was," said Mira. "Not everyone had it, nor did all who had it try to use it. Nearly all of those who pursued their potential died prematurely."

"Does Daura have it?" asked Macelan.

"Don't talk as if I'm not here!"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be strong. How can I lean on you if you aren't strong?"

Macelan was puzzled. Mira smiled to Serada.

"Some adventure you two are on," she said. "Have you found your reward?"

"I have," Serada said softly.

"I don't know," said Macelan.

"You have found your reward," said Daura, sourly. "But now you have to earn it."

"Good luck," said Serada with a laugh. Mira poked him in the ribs.

"Be nice."

"When does Brice return?" asked Macelan. "I expected him before this."

"Stormridge is not like Nantitet," said Mira. "Every traveler reaches it is a stranger and is watched closely. There is little trust for outsiders in Stormridge. I do not expect Brice before nightfall. We are only four miles from Stormridge and although it would be bad to be caught entering town after dark the chance is worth avoiding the prying eyes of daylight."