Storm Holt (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 3) (30 page)

Freydel rubbed his chin as he took in those before him. Clearly seeing Freydel’s anxiety, Haelgon spoke.

‘There is nothing to fear, Freydel, we all have the girl’s safety at the forefront of minds. If she is strong enough to slay Keteth, then she will pass the Wizard’s Reckoning. If she does that then she should be here amongst us upon the Wizards’ Circle. ‘

Averen agreed. ‘That is what the Circle is supposed to be, the most adept magic wielders brought together for the greater protection of the orbs and Maioria, and for the sharing of knowledge and the advancement of our skills. All those things regardless of gender or race.’

‘She must take the test which we all have taken-’ Luren piped up but then went silent when Freydel gave him a look.
 

The young man was so impressionable, and Domenon made sure he had his impression upon him. This whole thing was Domenon’s suggestion anyway. It was going from bad to worse. Merely a suggested idea was now becoming reality. The thought of Issa entering the Storm Holt made the blood drain from his face. A memory forced itself upon him, only a glimpse of a still picture that broke him out in an instant sweat.

His parents stood there in the kitchen of his childhood home. The wooden beams of their ceiling, the hob with something always cooking upon it and smelling divine, the warm fire in the hearth - it was all exactly as it had been when he was a child. Only something was horribly wrong with this fond childhood memory. Now his parents held long sharp knives. Blood smeared the walls, the hob, the chairs, the floor. He didn’t know whose blood it was in his child’s mind, but he remembered the terror as he looked up into their smiling faces and all-black eyes. They came towards him and he had screamed.

The memory released its grip and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was not a real memory, at least not one that really came from his childhood. It was a memory of his time within the Storm Holt. There he re-experienced many things he’d already experienced in his life, only this time they were distorted and sick, a horrific demonic replay of his otherwise happy life. Now many of his happier memories were tainted. Real memories of true events overshadowed by his re-experiences in the Storm Holt, leaving them impure in his mind.

He’d nearly died in there and the experience taught him that perhaps he was not as powerful as he wanted to be. Doubt was a far deeper and lasting wound than any bodily scar. Poisonous doubt in his own power and own abilities, that his magic might fail him at any moment, just like it had failed him in the Storm Holt. He knew from their silence that the other wizards had been maimed in some way by the Reckoning - physically, mentally, and emotionally.
 

‘Are you all right, Freydel?’

Freydel looked into Drumblodd’s eyes and saw understanding there. Drumblodd carried the scars from the Storm Holt on his cheeks. Several white lines marred his face, making him look meaner than he really was. It had taken three of them to drag his kicking and screaming bloody body away from the gate. It had taken a week for him to walk and another week before he would speak again. He’d never talked about what had happened though, never uttered a word. None of them did.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Freydel nodded.

Averen was the only other who had visible signs of his maiming, he’d lost the last two fingers on his left hand. Of those who entered, less than half returned. No one knew what happened to the others, perhaps they remained in the demon worlds, living out their own torturous nightmare. He prayed they died swiftly in there.

‘Entering the Storm Holt to prove her strength is not necessary. Slaying Keteth is proof enough,’ Freydel said firmly.

‘If she did kill the White Beast,’ Domenon said, spreading his own doubts. ‘We have no proof.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Freydel glowered.

‘No, Freydel, I’m simply wondering of the proof of it,’ Domenon sighed. ‘Baelthrom has no use for the White Beast if he cannot control him. He let Keteth live simply to keep us hemmed in in West Frayon. Who can say that the Maphraxies didn’t have a hand in his destruction? It means more power released to the world, and the removal of an entity that was getting in their way.’

‘She can tell you about it herself, when she is here,’ Freydel said in finality. ‘When Coronos and his party arrive in Carvon, I will again call the Wizard’s Circle and bring Issa here. But I will not agree to the Storm Holt and will advise her against it. The final decision remains in her hands.’

The wizards agreed. Navarr fidgeted. ‘This meeting must draw to a close. I have many things to attend to, and we’ve already been here over half a day. Time is short. Who knows when and where the Maphraxies will strike. Being prepared is a matter of great urgency.

‘Indeed, Navarr.’ Freydel said. ‘I’m keen to bring Arla to you and your healers.’

‘Of course, Freydel. There is a room for you in the west wing for as long as you desire. Arla can have the room next to yours,’ Navarr said.
 

‘Thank you, it means a lot. If the Circle will kindly assist in transporting the girl and I to Navarr’s hospitable home, the journey will be much more pleasant and less taxing on my weakened energy reserves.’
 

Freydel stood up, retrieved his orb and lingered a thoughtful look at the Orb of Water. Then he turned and gently picked up the sleeping Arla. She curled up in his arms, but did not awaken. Her body was so light he worried immediately for her wellbeing.

The wizards rose and chatted briefly with each other before saying their farewells. Beside Freydel, Drumblodd gripped Navarr’s arm.

‘You will have dwarven warriors whenever you need them, Navarr,’ Drumblodd said. ‘You have but to ask.’

Navarr tapped his hand upon the dwarfs. ‘Thank you, and I shall need them Drumblodd, be sure of that.’

‘There is one more thing we have not discussed - the safety of the orbs,’ Domenon said, gaining everyone’s attention. He eyed each Orb Keeper purposely. ‘If Baelthrom can get so close to taking another, we’ll need to reconsider their protection. Wouldn’t it be safer to leave the orbs under high protection in the safety of the Wizard’s Tower? If Baelthrom is hunting Orb Keepers, maybe both Keeper and orb would be safer apart?’

The wizards frowned, uncertain. Freydel didn’t like the thought of that at all.

‘Leaving the orbs altogether just waiting for him to find them is by no means safer and possibly sheer folly. Why do you think Orb Keepers exist? To protect the orbs at all costs, not leave them lying around,’ Freydel said
.

Domenon smiled and spread his arms. ‘Let us hope then that the Orb Keepers are strong enough, and can be trusted to protect them… at all costs.’ His look lingered on Freydel who held his eye unsmiling.
 

‘We Orb Keepers will do whatever we can to protect the orbs,’ Drumblodd said, ‘as we’ve always done.’

‘Come now gentlemen, we must get this child to a healer,’ Navarr said.

The wizards formed a circle around Freydel, Navarr and Arla and spoke in unison a transportation spell. Shimmering light engulfed the forms of the three, and then they were gone. One by one the other wizards left until Domenon was alone. He took one long look at the empty hollows where the orbs had been.

Coronos was far too old to carry two orbs, and being only a novice wizard he was far too weak to protect them should anything happen. If this girl needed a Secondary Keeper, then he would be the best choice by far. The girl would know nothing of orbs anyway. Perhaps he should become a mentor to her just as Freydel had. He drew his gaze away and then left the Circle as the others had done.

MARAKON turned eastwards where fire filled the sky. Though the street ahead was clear of Maphraxies, Dread Dragons filled the sky above. His horse hated the flaming buildings, and shied away if he got too close, but the blaze formed a weak kind of cover from aerial attacks as he cantered up the cobbled streets. People fled everywhere, some almost running under his horse in their panic.

‘Run to the trees, run to the hills,’ Marakon screamed at them, never knowing if they heard him or not.
 

He came to the last row of houses. The road led to the top of the hill, and their house was at the end on its own. He turned onto it and galloped as fast as his horse could go. He crested the hill, almost holding his breath. His horse screamed and reared. His house was a roaring blaze, and not three yards above it was the heaving mass of a Dread Dragon’s airborne underbelly, its scales gleamed red in the firelight.

Smoked filled his lungs and he choked. Terror made him weak and he battled with his horse to keep it from bolting. He stared from the Dread Dragon back towards his house, his horse squirming beneath him, desperate to get away from the dragon. A window exploded outwards as the heat within grew too much. That would be the expensive kitchen, he thought numbly.
Rasia, dear goddess I hope you got out!
 

‘You bastards,’ he breathed. ‘You bastards!’ he screamed and raised his sword at the Dread Dragon. It turned easily in the air, and two huge red orbs for eyes looked at him through fire and smoke.
 

‘Fight me, damn you.’ he forced his frantic horse forwards, ready to take on the giant beast as it snaked towards him. He saw another smaller set of red eyes on its back. The Dromoorai rider. Its amulet sparked into life and Marakon was distinctly aware of three beings looking at him.
 

‘Come on then, you cowards. You’ve destroyed me before, you won’t destroy me now.’ He raised his sword high as the dragon’s head snaked towards him. His mount reared and slashed its hooves. He lunged upwards to meet the head that was twice the size of his horse. His sword sliced against unbreakable black teeth and scales, making sparks fly in the dark. A fleck of black blood splattered his face, telling him he had nicked it at best. But then the Dromoorai pulled the beast’s chains up, and the Dread Dragon lifted into the air, never taking its eyes off Marakon.

‘What’s the matter? Are you afraid of fighting armed soldiers? Would you rather fight children?’
 

The dragon turned away, and left him standing there stunned. Why did it not kill him?
What am I, insane? I should never have tried to take on a Dread Dragon…
He turned to look at the ruin of his house. The roof creaked noisily then collapsed inwards. Thick smoke billowed out. His thoughts turned to Rasia. She would have fled with the kids. The burning house didn’t mean she was dead.
He had to find her. He turned his horse around, and galloped back towards town.

The town was filled with death, screaming and mayhem. Most streets were overrun with Maphraxies. It seemed like a grotesque dance; the ugly black-armoured, deformed Maphraxie giants fighting against the smaller village-folk in the firelight of their torched houses. Marakon slowed to a walk, and whirled his horse around in a circle, wondering what to do before he lunged straight into battle and his mind turned only to fighting. The rain continued to pour down, making the streets shiny and slick. Anything other than Dread Dragon fire would have been distinguished by now, he thought sourly.