Severed Empire: Wizard's War (40 page)

“Can’t, or won’t?” King Cordillera stood up. Mykal tried keeping his eyes on the spider in his hand. He lost sight of it. That worried him. He thought his heart might explode inside his chest.

His brain was spinning wild inside his skull.

He couldn’t keep a single thought straight.

Mykal managed to blurt out, “Won’t!”

“A shame,” King Cordillera said, stepping back, and back, and back.

The sand by the sea moved.

It crawled. Things scurried toward him. He watched as thousands of legs moved faster and faster.

“Don’t be afraid,” the king said. “I believe they can sense your fear.”

There were hundreds of spiders headed his way. They seemed to be emerging from the sea. More and more washed up onto shore as wave after wave lapped over the sand.

They would be on him in seconds.

“I can spare you the discomfort of an agonizing death, you know.”

Mykal was too distraught to think straight. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. They had been in the midst of a battle by the cove.

The spider King Cordillera had been holding dropped from his hand. It fell on its back, and squirmed until it was able to right itself. It stopped only inches from Mykal’s nose. “Agree to join me, boy,” the king said.

The legs extended, and the meaty body of the spider rose in the air. Its eyes never blinked this time. Instead it stared at him, malevolence glowed behind those eyes.

If this were happening, if this was real
, Mykal thought,
I can stop it
.
I can make this stop. But how?

The spider stepped onto his face. The hair on its legs was bristly, and sharp. The sensation irritated his skin. His nose twitched reflexively. His fingers fought against hard-packed sand to no avail.

He wanted to open his mouth and scream. He didn’t dare! He wasn’t going to open his mouth. He didn’t want to agitate the arachnid. The thing was on the top of his head.

The other spiders ran at him. Something tickled his left earlobe. They’d reached him. He shut his eyes tight against the horror.

His breathing was too fast, too hard. He was going to pass out. His head spun, as if his brain was loose inside his skull and twirling around and around between his ears.

Another spider tapped at his lower lip with a long leg before walking onto his face. It sat over his nose and forehead. Mykal welcomed death. His scream resounded in his mind. Never had he felt so trapped, so mortal.

Mortal. He was more than mortal. He was a wizard. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. They came in fragments, and unraveled strings.

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, Mykal
made
himself calm.

I am a wizard. I am in control. I can handle this. I can handle
him
!

The spiders on the beach caught fire.

The ones on his head popped off, as if they had been shocked by a current passing through Mykal’s body, and then caught fire.

King Cordillera stomped a foot in the sand, and dropped his arms down, fingers extended.

Mykal escaped from being buried in the sand. It whipped around his body. The speed it encircled him with was like a tornado. The particles were like glass and cut King Cordillera. He threw his arms up to shield his face and eyes. The sand tore at his clothing, and then at exposed flesh.

Mykal’s skin itched. His mind wouldn’t forget the spiders that had been crawling all over him. He pushed the tingling sensation away as best he could. It had been enough of a distraction that the whirlwind lost its momentum.

King Cordillera laughed, and dusted himself off.

Mykal saw drops of blood drip onto the sand. The Mountain King was hurt. It was superficial, but spoke volumes.

The man could be beaten!

Cordillera swung an arm toward Mykal. Red bolts shot out of his palm.

Mykal dropped and rolled to the right. Crouched low, he brought his arms together in front of him, clapping his hands together. A wave of white and blue sprayed outward. The disturbance knocked Cordillera back, and off his feet.

He fell hard on his back, legs up.

The waves from the sea rolled over him. He struggled, turning onto his side, and trying to get back onto his feet.

Mykal didn’t hesitate. He opened his mind and screamed for help.

A sea serpent leapt out of the sea. The creature’s mouth opened wide, bearing rows of sharp teeth.

Cordillera jumped out of the sea as the serpent dove back into the water, just missing its meal.

Mykal altered his arms, throwing one forward, and then the other. The bolts flew from his hands making the sand smoke, and the sea water hiss. A lucky shot clipped Cordillera’s foot. He stumbled forward, and landed face first in the sand.

Just as Mykal raised his arms, ready for delivering another blow, a crimson cloud encased Cordillera’s body, and when it evaporated, the Mountain King was gone with it.

Chapter 38

Mykal stood on the empty beach. In his mind he called out to his mother. He had heard her screaming before, but could not respond then. She was on his mind. Her safety. He called out to her again, but there was no response.

He assumed more of King Cordillera’s ships reached land, and that enemy knights stormed the Ridgeland Port. He would have to go there. His parents may need his help. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. Chasing down Cordillera would just have to wait.

Mykal!

It was his mother. He heard her. He took a second and closed his eyes, and sighed. He wasn’t sure if he’d hear her voice again. All the hoping in the world meant nothing. Her voice inside his head was at least confirmation that she was alive.
Are you okay?

There were so many! They are headed for the castle! They plan to knock out the towers and turrets, ram walls, climb the walls, and raise the portcullis!

Stay hidden,
Mykal warned his mother.

We tried to stop them, Mykal!

Tried to stop them? It was the way she said it. A chill ran up his spine. He shivered.
Are you okay? Where is Father?

You can’t let them breach the keep! All of those innocent people are in danger!

Something had gone wrong. He had a sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach.
Where is Father?

I am with him! Go, Mykal. They’re on the main path. Someone has to stop them. You may be the only one. Save the keep!

The sand changed to smoke and in an instant, he was propelled through space. When the sand fell away he was in front of the castle’s raised bridge. It would not be an easy kingdom to conquer, but neither was it an impossible one to overcome.

Mykal saw Cordillera’s men on the path. They headed directly for him.

With his mind clear and finally focused, Mykal strode toward the knights. His arms were in front of him, as if he were walking in his sleep.

He was not sleepwalking.

He created a field of blue and green electricity in front of him. It was oval in shape, and rose several feet above his head, and a few feet out to either side. It moved forward with him, with each step he took. The knights gave pause long enough to loose arrows and throw spears. The weapons burst into flames on contact with the glowing, and crackling shield.

Mykal could not understand why the men marched two by two in a line.

This made them easy targets.

He threw balls of fire at them. The mage fire skipped across the ground, leaving burning debris like footprints in its approach, and bounced up at the last moment. Flames smashed into the men in the lead, the ones bearing the Mountain King’s sigil on flags. The fireball pushed through the row of knights, and sent them scattering.

Mykal unleashed bolts of lightning after the knights on the run. His mother had been right. There were almost too many men. They clearly had a plan of attack in mind. The sight of so many enemy soldiers inside the Grey Ashland borders was frightening. His thoughts drifted toward King Nabal, his knights, and Blodwyn. He desperately wanted to be fighting alongside them, as well.

He couldn’t help thinking of Coil, and Uncle Quill.

There were too many fronts. Despite all of the fair warning, he felt severely unprepared. Defending the realm wasn’t his responsibility, though. They tried warning Nabal, and all that had done is assure him a life sentence in the dungeons at the conclusion of the war. This, assuming of course, he survived the war. That was thinking optimistically. There could be a noose around the neck in the near future, because what king would ever admit they had been wrong?

Several soldiers tripped over tree stumps that Nabal had never removed after clearing the small forest that once surrounded Grey Ashland. The stumps were kept for just this reason. It made attacks on the castle, not impossible, but more difficult.

Knights charged him with swords drawn. They let out battle cries. Their combined voices rose into a roar, and actually hurt the inside of Mykal’s ears.

They flanked his position. He wasn’t picking them off fast enough. There were far too many, and they were fast, and limber. The soldiers under Cordillera’s command were well trained, athletic, and fearless.

Mykal heard the sound of bow strings
thwarp
as arrows were propelled at him. Mykal reacted as fast as possible, and extended his shield like a bubble around him. The shield fell in place, and sliced through the shaft of one arrow; the severed half inside the shield fell at his feet. While a second arrow punched through his upper thigh before the shield was in place.

He dropped to a knee inside the bubble, wincing. He felt warm blood seep from the wound. Standing up, he grunted through the pain, grinding his teeth together. There was nothing life threatening about the injury. Even if there had been, there wasn’t time to fret over it. The knights surrounded him. Their swords had no effect against the electric field, either. Instead, the connection shook the steel out of the knight’s hands. His bolts of lightning cracked against their armor, cooked many of them inside the metal skins they wore.

The shield wasn’t going to hold forever.

He felt his energy draining fast. It was almost as if he hadn’t had food or water in days. His mouth was dry.

He was not as aware of his surroundings as he should be.

That didn’t stop him from listening to the sound of their screams. The cries would haunt him forever. The knights that caught fire died horrible deaths.

Their skin blackened, and eyeballs melted.

Mykal
wouldn’t
look away. He caused the destruction, and their deaths. He forced himself to watch, knowing he had a responsibility to understand consequences of his actions, whether justified or not.

Magic was not invincible.

The knights continued wearing away at his shield, tapping his energy.

Cordillera, also weakened, and wounded, was still out there. Somewhere. The Mountain King could be anywhere.

The Mountain King.

He had controlled the weather. More than shooting bolts of lightning, he had brought in storm clouds, and made the sea turbulent.

Mykal had an idea. He closed his eyes and raised his hands, fingers extended.

For a brief moment, he knew the knights must have become curious and stopped their attack. The few seconds of silence that surrounded the bubble brought with it a much needed calm that Mykal drank in.

His fingers slowly curled in, one at a time. He started with his pinkies, the ring fingers, the middle and index fingers, and then closed up his fists with the thumbs lying over the top numb knuckles.

When Mykal opened his eyes, he was astounded by the sight before him.

Black tornados swirled down from slate grey skies and touched down on the ground. Loose snow and mud sprayed out in the meteorological outburst.

There were six twisters in all, and at Mykal’s direction, they moved with speed toward Cordillera’s men.

The funnels sucked up knights and tossed them through the air. Bodies slammed back down onto the ground, and never moved again.

Others tried outrunning the storms, to no avail. The heavy armor they wore restricted movement, despite training and strength.

Mykal spun in slow circles guiding the twisters with his hands, with his eyes, and with his mind. Only three funnels remained, moving through the enemy knights with speed, and ease. The downside was the amount of energy it drained.

Dropping onto his knees, Mykal did his best maintaining focus on the tornados.

They lost strength, as well.

It didn’t matter. As the last of the funnels climbed back into the clouds, the devastation was evident around him.

The bubble that shielded him from attacks faded away.

Panting, Mykal stayed on his knees. He reached around and took hold of the arrow’s shaft in his right hand.

Bodies were strewn about the landscape. Too many to count.

They might not all be dead. Currently, though, they posed little to no threat.

He tugged on the arrow.

The broad-head was lodged against something. Flesh, or bone. Either way, he couldn’t pull it out of his leg. He didn’t have the strength to try magic.

He fell forward, onto his chest. His face was pressed against cold, hard ground. The magic used had depleted him.

His eyes wanted to close. He fought keeping them open. The fear was that if he let them shut, he might never wake up again. He worried he might be dying.

I stopped them, Mother
, he thought, with no way of knowing if his message could even be delivered.
I stopped them.

Chapter 39

“Mykal? Mykal wake up!”

Mykal recognized the voice, even though it sounded muffled. “Mother,” he said.

He opened his eyes, blinking. He shut them. The bright light burned.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. She had him by the shoulders.

He thought his head might be in her lap, and tried opening his eyes a second time. “Where am I?”