Severed Empire: Wizard's War (7 page)

She quickly raised her legs, drawing her knees up toward her chest. The muscles in her arms and back protested. The sudden movement, the shifting of weight, put unbearable stress on her shoulders and chest. She gasped, unable to catch her breath. The shackle irons cut into her wrists. Blood rolled down her forearms and dripped off the tip of her elbows.

Something snickered below her. She kept her knees raised. She knew if she lowered her legs, whatever waited below would touch her again. Hot tears fell from the corners of her eyes. Only behind the rags, she was laughing, not crying.

This time it was not a snicker. A cackle echoed in the darkness.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone!
Galatia’s mind screamed.
Leave me alone!

***

Blodwyn sat on a bench outside the mess hall. His staff stood between his parted knees. He held onto the shaft with both hands, and unblinking, watched as Mykal walked toward him.

The entire time Mykal climbed up a tree into the canopy he ran through the conversation he expected he’d have with Blodwyn. He got down exactly the words he wanted to say. He even figured on some of Blodwyn’s responses, and had a counter ready.

However, seeing the man—his friend—sitting thoughtfully, he knew his plan might deviate. He said, “Hey.”

Every word prepared escaped his memory. There was nothing left inside his brain to call on.

Blodwyn shifted his way down the bench, patted a spot beside him.

The sun was mostly hidden behind low grey clouds. The air was cool, and crisp. Mykal sat. “Look, I’m sorry about the things I said.”

“You do not need to apologize to me. Your anger is justified. There were countless times I wanted to tell you about your mother, about your father, only I knew doing so could prove dangerous. Dangerous for them, dangerous for you and your grandfather. It doesn’t take an educated curer to notice the pain you lived with growing up. It hurt me knowing I had answers that might eliminate some, if not all of your agony, and yet I couldn’t say a word,” Blodwyn said. “I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Know this, if I had all of this to do over again, I would do it the exact same way.”

“And not tell me about my parents?” Mykal knew the pain in his voice apparent.

He nodded. “And not tell you. It was still the right choice. I can’t apologize for that. But I can apologize for allowing your suffering to continue for so many years.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Wyn. And you don’t need my forgiveness. I’m not mad. I mean, I was, but I don’t think I was really mad at you. Either way, there’s nothing to forgive except my behavior. I hope you don’t look at me like some dumb kid who just threw a stupid temper tantrum in there.” Mykal hooked his thumb over his shoulder and pointed toward the mess hall.

Blodwyn clapped a hand onto Mykal’s knee. “You are no dumb kid, friend.”

Mykal smiled. “So we’re good?”

“That we are!” Blodwyn smiled, in return. “How did things go with your father?”

Mykal recounted the details of the brief visit. “I told him we were leaving in the morning, but he made no indication one way or the other. He’s not what I expected. I thought he’d be leading some rescue party on horseback, searching the lands for my mother, and excited to see me.”

“It started that way,” Blodwyn said. “When he first set out, but years, and years later…”

“He didn’t seem happy to see me, though. Not even a little.”

“I know your father. He was happy to see you but so filled with guilt and embarrassment; it probably hurt him more having you track him down.”

Mykal remembered what Eadric had said. “Because he thinks he failed me?”

“Failed you and failed your mother.”

“Did he ever ask you where my mother might be?” Mykal said.

“Ask me? No. Not once. He enlisted my help.”

“Do you help him?”

“I told him that I would instead stay and watch over his father and son until he returned,” Blodwyn said.

Mykal and Blodwyn sat for several moments. The silence was far different than what he experienced with his father. There was nothing awkward about it now. Although they were not talking, it was anything but quiet. Forest animals, and birds, made noises. Their songs and calls made everything below them seem so alive.

“I think we should look for my uncle. I want to figure out what we’re going to do next. I want things planned, with little room for surprise.” Mykal knew things never worked out that way. It still seemed better to have an idea of what they would do; an outline to follow, rather than depending on winging it.

“Well. I think you know what’s next,” Blodwyn said.

“We need to warn King Nabal about the upcoming attack,” Mykal said. “And then you’re going to tell me where my mother has been hiding.”

***

King Hermon Cordillera strode through his castle with purpose. His footfalls pounded on the stone floor. The queen and his darling princesses were in another part of the castle, up in their rooms getting ready for bed. He took the stairs to the tower two at a time, anxious to see how Ida was coming along. He no longer locked her door. The enchantment was removed. She could come and go as she pleased. He felt like they were finally working together, working toward similar goals. He hadn’t been sure at first, but was slowly beginning to realize his sorcerer could prove a resourceful ally.

Inside her room, Ida sat at a work bench. Displayed on the tabletop in front of her were the hand-mirror, dagger, and chalice.

Cordillera stood in the doorway watching her for long minutes. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she was a statue. She did not move a muscle. She did not even blink. Wearing her black cloak without the hood made the king cringe. She had wisps and patches of long, thin, white hair. Her skin sagged, and was a decaying grey. A prominent feature among so many grotesque contenders; was her long crooked nose, and close-set black eyeballs under tree bark-like knuckled eye sockets.

“I see the thoughts inside your head.” She rubbed her face in her hands. Bony disjointed fingers kneaded rough skin around her temples. “They make my brain hurt.”

“You expect me to apologize to
you
?” King Hermon closed the tower door. The latch clicked. He made his way over to the work bench. His eyes traced over the three talismans.

“Apologize? No. Never. Either, ask me the questions that trouble you, or leave it alone. I’ve too much work to do.”

“Then why is it every time I see you all you are doing is sitting and staring at the pieces?”

It was as if she ignored his question. She waved a hand around as she spoke. “There is so much that needs to get done. I can’t concentrate with your thoughts spiraling around inside my skull.” Ida then gripped the sides of her head with fingertips, and shook it from side to side. She grunted, showing how annoyed she was with her king.

“Have you gotten any closer to figuring out how to summon the other three wizards? Every time I come in here you are in the same spot, and all you do is stare at the items.” King Cordillera reached for the hand-mirror.

Ida slapped his hand. “Don’t touch!”

He arched an eyebrow. No one touched a king that way and lived. Was her cocksure attitude too flippant? She deserved freedom for getting work done, but scolding a king might be taking confidence too far. Her behavior was far from acceptable.

And yet, he didn’t say a word; he let it slide as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

“There is a power, a different energy, which courses through each of these.” Ida continually waved a hand over the mirror. The glass shimmered. It looked translucent, like water, as ripples rolled from the center of the mirror on out. “I believe I may be getting close to answers.”

“Close? How close?” He wore Galatia’s teardrop on a thin rope around his neck. He felt the jewel under his tunic, and against his skin. He was aware of the amethyst because he thought it might be growing warmer.

“We don’t want to rush the process. I have no idea if there is a failsafe. It is all too possible that if we attempt the summons, and do it incorrectly, the talisman will lose all of its magic. We need to approach it with the idea that we have one chance, and one chance only to get everything right.”

Patience was never a virtue Cordillera possessed. He preferred things getting done immediately. Waiting drove him crazy; it made his skin itch as if bugs crawled on him underneath his skivvies.

“And your other question, the one weighing so heavily on your mind,” Ida said. “Ask it.”

King Hermon Cordillera spun away from the table. He moved over to the window. He pushed open the shutters. The frigid air in the mountains would soon become relentless. Snow would fall soon, and not let up until late spring. He breathed in deeply, letting the cold fill his lungs. “Why must I ask the question if you claim you already know it?”

“You want a son, an heir.”

Ida knew him far too well. “I cannot stomach the idea of lying down with my wife. The excitement of intimacy died shortly after marriage.” Thick flabby thighs grew like extra skin over her sex, making his manhood limp at best. “And what if she bares me another daughter? I cannot handle the disappointment of such a birth. Not again.”

“She would give you a third daughter. That much I can see.”

King Hermon sneered. “I knew it. I knew she would do that to me, the wench! Perhaps I need someone I can ensure will deliver a son for me!”

Ida grinned. It resembled the closest thing to a grin, anyway. Her lips spread flat, but wide, and her eyes squinted some. “The wizard Galatia would sire you a son.”

Hermon made a fist and narrowed his eyes. “A son, you say? And would he have powers? Would he have magic?”

“That is not seen. Yet. Now aren’t you glad you didn’t use the iron pear?” Ida cackled, threw her head back and laughed.

Hermon made his way for the door. He’d anticipated a union between himself and the sorceress, and perhaps children. There was always the chance that once broken, she’d pledge loyalty to his cause and sit beside him as he ruled the new empire. The thought that their offspring would be blessed with fantastic powers was not something he’d considered. It made the concept all the more appealing.

Ida held up a hand. “There is one thing more,” she added.

He stopped walking. A shiver raced down his spine, and he shivered. “Yes?”

“The boy? He is alive.”

Hermon spun around. “What? I saw him with my own eyes. He was dead. No breath filled his lungs. His heart did not beat.”

She raised an unruly eyebrow. “It is as you say, and yet, he has used his magic since that day. More than once. I worried I was tapping into someone else, a different wizard. That is not the case. The boy is alive.”

Hermon tried laughing. “No matter. He’s a boy. His magic will clearly pale in comparison to the power I will unleash!”

“He is a variable. Unforeseen. Surprising. That makes him dangerous.” Ida lowered her hand. She waved it over the mirror, and watched the glass shimmer as if made of liquid.

“And your suggestion?”

“I have none. Mine is just to bring what I know to your attention. You are the king. It is for you to decide the boy’s fate,” she said.

“And decide it, I shall!”

Chapter 5

Despite the thick canopy and village above, the morning sun streaked through large tree leaves. There warm air was something Mykal welcomed. He still thought a chill from the mountains lingered inside his bones. Autumn was too short a season. Winter would consume everything far too soon.

Standing beside Blodwyn, Mykal was holding Babe’s reins when Blodwyn tapped him on the shoulder. He looked where directed, and didn’t understand what he saw. Emerging from between the trees was a tall man in a black cape. His hair was short, and beard trimmed. There was a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, and a sword in the scabbard affixed to the belt around his waist.

“Eadric?” Mykal breathed.
My father?

It was a new man who stood before them. He stayed quiet, eyeing them. Perhaps he looked for approval. Mykal was at a loss for words.

“I’m glad you’ll be joining us.” Blodwyn held out his hand.

Eadric shook it. “It’s been sometime, Wyn. You look well.”

“Thank you, sir. As do you.” The sellsword set both hands on his staff.

Mykal’s father shifted his weight from one leg onto the other. “You know where my wife is, Wyn? You’ve always known where my wife was?”

Blodwyn arched an eyebrow. “You never came to me, Eadric. Your father told me you took off after her. I was charged with watching your boy, with raising your son.”

Eadric drew back his right arm. The punch came fast, and hard. Blodwyn didn’t flinch. He moved his staff to his left. Eadric’s knuckles connected solidly against the wood and iron staff with a flat clunk. Three knuckles bled as he pulled his hand away, and winced. “You wouldn’t have told me where she was even if I’d asked,” he said, breathing fast and heavy.

“You are right. I wouldn’t have. She wanted to keep you and Mykal safe. That’s what I would have told you,” Blodwyn said.

“She was kidnapped!”

“She hid,” Blodwyn said. “Her magic was about to be found out. King Nabal had his Watch and his Crusaders combing the shires looking for her, and people like her.”

“You were the only one to use a word like
shire
,” Eadric said, absently. It was as if he didn’t realize he’d spoken thoughts out loud.

Ignoring the injection, Blodwyn continued. “The last thing she wanted was to have you and your son watch as she burned at the stake during some public execution. You knew of her magic. You know what the king thinks of wizards. Only a few times when we first met, did I see her power. After she met you, she didn’t use it. She gave up her practice altogether. So, you see, she wasn’t saving herself,
Eadric
. She was saving the both of you.”

“All of this time…”

Mykal watched the exchange, and while he didn’t think it possible, felt a pang of sadness for his father. “We will find her now,” he said, and had almost said dad, but the word just didn’t feel right in his mouth, like a warm, dark, and bitter ale.