The Pinnacle Of Empire (Book 6) (38 page)

“No, but I can.”

Bodrin shook his head and left to lead his legion to the river.

*

“Tottiana, my dearest, you were so brave. I must ask you another favor. Will you continue to govern these unruly people while I again leave to repel this invasion? I wish Memlatec was back to assist you, but for now you must rule alone.” Tottiana jerked erect, facing Saxthor, propping her hands on her waist, her feet planted solidly apart.

“And who managed these unruly people before your return?”

Saxthor smiled. Tottiana melted, flinging her arms around her husband, squeezing him. She pressed her head to his chest then looked up at him. Her arms wouldn’t yet release him. “I just get you back and now you rush off again. Will we be together again soon?”

“Yes, dearest, but you know I must deal with this most treacherous act personally. Talok has been a sacred trust of my family for generations. I must defend it at all cost.”

“I’ve learned enough about your sense of honor and dynastic responsibility to know you must do this. Please, be careful and return to me soon.” Tottiana kissed her husband, took a last long look and went to her suite.

Saxthor watched her until she disappeared around the corner after a last mournful glance. He went down to the palace courtyard. Not room enough, he thought and he rode out through the city gate to the avenue leading northeast. There Yamma-Mirra Heedra slipped from his finger and grew into the great golden dragon beside him with tail and tongue flicking. Saxthor mounted the dragon and they launched into the air, flying east to Hoya and vengeance.

*

From an Ossenkosk tower, Belnik watched Yamma-Mirra Heedra flying east. “He’s flown off and left us behind again.”

“We should go console Tottiana; she’ll be beside herself now,” Tittletot said.

“He shouldn’t have left us,” Belnik grumbled.

“Well, you’re too fat for even that hundred foot dragon to lug over the mountains,” Tittletot said, seeming to watch the disappearing reptile.

“Fat!” Belnik frowned at the tittletot, who refused to look at him.

“Well, you’ve developed quite a middle aged spread there. Can you still see those big feet of yours, Chubby?”

Belnik could see the corner of the elf’s grin. “Of all the gall, just take one good look at that belly of yours. And your feet are twice the size of mine.”

“This?” Tittletot asked, leaning back, giving full girth to his protruding tummy. He patted it like a pet. “This is just prosperity among tittletots.”

“You’re absurd, you little monster.”

Grinning, Tittletot glanced up at Belnik.

“Let’s go console Tottiana. She’ll be in tears for sure.”

“Yes, I suppose we’re needed here. Nothing we can do to help Saxthor. I’d still like to ride a great dragon,” Belnik said, spreading his arms in the pose of a triumphant rider.

“Ha, you, a great dragon rider?”

“What’s so funny about that?”

“We just don’t have the heroes’ statue.”

“I suppose not, but it’s an exhilarating thought.”

Belnik patted Tittletot on the head. Tittletot shook it off and the two went to find the empress.

* * *

“Well, better late than never,” Helgamyr said, reclining on her divan.

“Somehow the emperor always seems to show up,” Endaquac said. She placed a tea tray on the table beside the divan. “He escapes your justice every time.”

“He does make Tottiana happy.”

Engwan came to the sitting room door, staring at Helgamyr. He snatched his hat from his head and slung it across the room.

“Engwan, come here my dear. This has been such a trying time.”

“I should be emperor.” The crown prince’s face was frozen without smile or frown, but his eyes chilled Helgamyr.

“You will be emperor one day. It’s not your time yet.”

“Our little prince came very close today, didn’t you Engwan?” Endaquac said.

“I should be emperor.”

“You must wait your turn, my dear. Best you enjoy your childhood before wishing to take on the responsibilities of empire.”

“He snatched the very crown from me.”

“Make the crown prince a cup of tea, Endaquac.”

“I don’t want tea. I want what should be mine.” Engwan turned and disappeared from the doorway.

“He doesn’t like waiting for the throne, does he?” Helgamyr said.

“He may not wait,” Endaquac said, not looking up from the tea tray where she arranged a plate of cakes for the dowager.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Helgamyr asked, watching at the maid. Endaquac said nothing and went back to her chair in the corner and began stitching her embroidery once more.

* * *

Looking into a boiling pool of sulfur deep in the swamp below Urgenak, Xthilleon pondered his next move.

“Stupid, blundering Nindax, I should never have relied on him to overthrow Saxthor in a war of men. Memlatec, the crown, and dragon serve and protect him. I must dispose of the emperor through more subtle means then find another method of seizing his imperial throne.”

“You gonna be emperor too?” Morphenius asked.

“Shut up, you fool.”

A sinister plot hatched and developed, spawning a grin. As often happened, a struggle ensued in his mind. The former wizard Xthilleon and the Dark Lord’s essence fought again for control, causing a severe headache. The wizard grabbed his head as the dominated wizard again struggled to expel the evil controlling him.

I won’t do it, Xthilleon thought. It’s too evil a thing to unleash.

Oh yes, we’ll do it, the evil essence countered. You know where the swamp festers most and where the Biddlebot tree grows. I’ve gleaned that from your memory. You’ll take me there. The Dark Lord’s essence crushed the former wizard’s resistance and continued with his devious plan.

Xthilleon stepped through the poisonous swamp with care. Twisted trees gave way to smaller, more deformed shrubs and sedges the further he traveled into the mire. A troll jumped out just after dusk. Its prominent ribcage betrayed its desperation as the huge, starving creature rushed the wizard with eyes red and glazed. It drew back a club. A confident grin displayed the remaining putrid, yellow fangs. 

“Be gone!” Xthilleon commanded.

The troll moved forward, his massive feet splashing through puddles. His fingers tightened their grip on the enormous, raised club.

Xthilleon glared at the troll and he hesitated.

“I said be gone!” With that, Xthilleon mumbled a spell and thrust his staff at the creature. Wizard-fire shot from the staff’s crystal burning the troll’s bottom hand, which guided the club.

The monster screamed, jerking back his arm’s black, smoldering stub. He dropped the club. The stunned troll stared at Xthilleon for a moment then turned to run deeper into the swamp. A saber-wolf, who must have associated with the troll for scraps, now leaped at the wounded creature, catching him off guard. The wolf knocked the troll over in the black and yellow mud, tearing out his throat before the troll could defend himself. Standing on the dying troll’s chest as its blood mixed with the swamp mud, the wolf glared at Xthilleon and snarled. Xthilleon didn’t challenge for the meal. The wolf tore at the troll’s entrails and ate as the wizard passed nearby, moving deeper into the bog.

The farther Xthilleon penetrated the mire, the more foul sulfurous vapors wafted up along the twisting sporadic path through bubbling pools of dark water edged in yellow sulfur. Dead animals that had wandered in, gotten lost, and died amid the fumes and poisonous water decayed in pools. Skeletons were scattered everywhere among the clumps of twisted sedges, mushrooms, and other parasitic fungi. The Dark Lord moved on, against the will of his host, through hidden traps, over rotting logs, and under arching briars with infectious spines bristling in twisted coils.

About a mile into the swamp, long past where other living creatures penetrated, a cluster of deformed oaks and swamp sumacs formed a slight thicket on a mound amid the festering bog.

This is it, isn’t it? The Dark Lord questioned his host mentally. This is the place where the Biddlebot tree grows. Don’t deny it; I read your thoughts easily, for all your attempts to prevent me. There was no mental response, but the dark wizard grinned at his victory. Which tree is it?

The possessed body contorted as muscles spasms wracked him. The Dark Lord suppressed the resistance and forced the broken wizard to move forward into the thicket. The warlock examined each tree, dismissing one after another in turn until he reached a small, exceptionally abnormal tree with sickly yellow foliage. The black bark ringed in inch long spines emitted a sour odor. The leaves were covered in fine stinging needles. The ground beneath the small tree was a carpet of dead insect shells sucked clean of soft entrails and bird skeletons.

Xthilleon untied a leather pouch from his waist and opened it. He drew out several dried, moldy dead animals and parts, smaller packets of powdered ingredients and a vial of unlabeled liquid. Finally, he took out a small mortar and pestle and began grinding the ingredients together in a paste. That done, he withdrew a writhing snake from a second pouch. He milked its venom into the bowl. Carefully, he folded the venom into the other ingredients until a shiny, black substance of putty consistency formed. The wizard then coiled the writhing snake around a sturdy tree branch and tied it securely before plastering the black putty over the snake, entombing it. The poultice soon hardened and the wizard chanted numerous spells until the moon rose.

Exhausted, Xthilleon lay down nearby to sleep. Through the night, the sorcerer woke and examined the lump on the branch as the tree absorbed it. By the pale light of morning that filtered through the perpetual yellow haze, only a swollen lump in the branch remained where the poultice had been the night before. The bud at the end of the branch had begun to swell.

“That will do nicely,” Xthilleon mumbled. Even as he watched, the bud enlarged. By day’s end, it burst open into a six-sided flower trumpet exuding blood’s iron odor. Through the night, flies and other sinister things drawn to the flower fell dead on touching it. A vampire bat came and, when it flew into the flower’s trumpet, the blossom collapsed around the bat, engulfing it, suffocating it, and finally, digesting and absorbing it. By morning a blood red seed pod began to develop at the base of the then brown trumpet.

“I shall return in a week,” Xthilleon mumbled. He left, painstakingly treading his way back through the swamp to Morphenius’s camp to rest.

When the time was right, the warlock returned to the Biddlebot tree. He found the bulbous seedpod had grown to the size of a pumpkin. It bowed the strained tree. The ripe pod rested on the ground with something squirming inside. It took another spell, but the pod burst open and a small, monkey-like creature rolled onto the ground unwrapping its arms and legs and, finally, staring up at the wizard, blinking its eyes.

“Come to me, Syclebot. Come to your maker,” Xthilleon said.

The creature hesitated for a moment, then beamed a sinister grin. It crept to the wizard scrambling up his leg to shelter between his torso and right arm. By this time, the Powterosian army had left Varnakak, so the wizard, oaf, and syclebot returned to the wizard’s tower, where the creature would mature and learn its mission.

Emperor Grekenbach, Grand Duchess Klekkenska, and Wizard Tolalo stood beside their empress Dagmar’s bed at the rebuilt Sekcmet Palace in Sengenwhapolis. Dagmar was not recovering well from complications due to the premature birth of her son, Crown Prince Calamidese.

“You must rest and recover soon, dear heart,” Grekenbach said. Klekkenska patted Dagmar’s pale, weak hand. “You must eat and recover your strength. Klekkenska, you must take charge. Have the kitchen prepare our Dagmar the best and freshest delicacies.”

“Grekenbach,” Dagmar strained to whisper. “I warned you before. You must withdraw your army from Hoya and Talok. Send your apologies to Saxthor; tell him your general misunderstood your order. Saxthor’s anger is hard to provoke, but once enraged, his revenge is likely to be terrible. He cannot abide treachery.” The empress coughed and slumped back into her bed linens.

“Nonsense, dear heart, you mustn’t worry yourself about such matters just now. You must concentrate on your recovery.”

“This territorial grab will bring ruin down on us.”

He said no more, smiled at Dagmar, patting her hand, and glanced at Klekkenska.

Outside the empress’ bedchamber, the emperor spoke with the grand duchess. “I must leave at once to join the army at Hoya. The invasion is stalled. I must inspire my troops to conquer and occupy that city before Saxthor can take steps to intervene.

* * *

King Mendentak and his mother, Dowager Queen Merritak of the veiled Talok-Tak Elf Kingdom, conferred with their councilors in the central Talok Mountains.

“Men advance everywhere,” the elf said, who once guided Saxthor and his band into the kingdom. “We fought with them against Dreaddrac and the Dark Lord, whose conquest would have destroyed all Powteros. But now they increase in number without thought to the resources they consume. They hack down the forests with impunity. Soon, they’ll over run these mountains. We’ll be exposed and our livelihood destroyed with the forests. Do we now aid one side or the other in this war among men for more land, greed?”

“What shall we do then?” another councilor asked. “Wait to see who wins and make alliance with the victor?”

“Saxthor will win in the end,” Mendentak said. “But neither side will restrain man for long. His mortality, the need to leave something behind, and the need for children to tend him in his old age spur on this endless breeding. Mankind will break alliances as the need for new land and resources push him to further conquest.”

“Perhaps it’s time we abandoned these forests,” Queen Merritak said. Her face was grave. “The age of man has come upon us full force. We cannot turn it back. Let us prepare to leave and journey to the west. Life for us here is in twilight. Our future is west, in the undying lands.”

Silence fell as the councilors nodded to each other.

“In honor of Saxthor’s contribution to the destruction of the Dark Lord and Dreaddrac, I’ll offer him one last aid of magic before we leave. It may help end this war, so costly in lives,” King Mendentak said. The assembly broke up with that pronouncement.

* * *

In the wizard’s tower at Konnotan, Tournak and Meklin found an old spell that brought together cloud energy, smashing it to make thunder and lightning.

“That sounds dangerous,” Meklin said.

“It was simple enough,” Tournak said. “It’s an old elfin trick to shock water, stunning fish. Elves stopped using it long ago when they found it harmed the fry more than the edible fish. It might be useful here.”

“You mean to stun the enemy troops?”

“Well, if I can control the shock waves, I think it might give them pause in their attack.”

“If you can’t control it, it could undermine the stonework of Hoya itself, though.”

“True, a good point.”

A knock at the door broke their study.

“Yes, come in,” Tournak said. A handsome youth entered dressed in forest green and brown.

“You’re Wizard Tournak?”

“Yes, and who might you be?”

“I’m Ailtak, daughter of King Mendentak of the Talok-Tak elves. She took off her cap and let her hair fall, revealing her pointed ears. “I’m dressed thus to conceal my race and sex.”

“A most warm welcome to you, Ailtak,” Tournak said. “Come in and shut the door. This dumbstruck youth is Meklin, son of Hendrel of Hador, my assistant.” Tournak grinned as Meklin blushed red, then he noted Ailtak, too, blushed. “What news from King Mendentak?”

“Father… King Mendentak sends his well wishes to you and Emperor Saxthor. He further sends a warning. Since the destruction of the Munatahhensenhov, the ground beneath has rumbled with increasing strength. There are reverberations throughout the energy gradients beneath Powteros. Use caution when using wizard-fire.

* * *

King Nindax sat on his throne, contemplating his impotent situation. His courtiers had vacated the audience hall, being away scrounging for funds to pay off the war reparations. The new chatra, approved by Saxthor himself, stood silent behind the throne.

“Has Xthilleon returned from his mysterious trip?”

“Yes, and it seems he has a new playmate.”

“Playmate?”

“Your wizard has some sort of monkey creature that returned with him from his last excursion. It’s now his constant companion.”

“Last excursion, indeed. He abandoned me when I needed him most. A strange companion, he hates having anyone around him. Even his few servants are forbidden to be in his presence with the exception of that oaf. I once suggested he have an assistant and he blew up in a blind rage. Apparently, he had a very bad experience with an assistant in his past.”

Xthilleon strolled into the audience hall, his boots clacking in the silent gallery.

“Come forward, Xthilleon,” Nindax said. “You see, I’ve survived defeat. Where were you when I needed you on the battlefield?”

“I have been away on urgent business, Majesty.”

“Urgent business… I hear you have a new playmate.”

Xthilleon’s face turned mottled red. His teeth ground, but he forced a smile. “Playmate, you must mean Mot, the syclebot.”

“Some sort of monkey pet I hear. Is that what kept you away when I most needed your assistance?”

“Your Majesty needn’t be spiteful. I may have a solution to your problem.”

Nindax jumped up. “Spiteful… I’ve lost everything.”

“Well, Saxthor is the cause of your troubles. Perhaps you may still remove the impediment, shall we say.”

“Chatra, leave us.”

The chatra bowed out of the hall. Nindax held up his hand to silence the wizard until he heard the door clang shut. “What is your proposal?”

“Your Majesty might want to consider discretely sending my
playmate
and a special broach as a gift to your Helgamyr’s servant Endaquac from a secret admirer.”

“Why would I want to send that infernal woman or her servant anything?”

“Means to an end, Highness, means to an end.”

Nindax cocked an eyebrow with the wizard, smiling in the flickering candlelight.

* * *

A beaming servant entered Helgamyr’s suite and bowed.

“Why do you disturb Her Majesty at this hour?” Endaquac asked.

“Two men have brought you a gift.”

“Two men bearing a large gift for me?” Helgamyr asked.

“Begging your pardon, Majesty, but it’s for Miss Endaquac.

Helgamyr blushed. “Who would be sending Endaquac a gift? Bring it in at once.”

Servants brought the crate and set it on the floor. One handed Endaquac a letter that accompanied it. Helgamyr snatched it, glanced at Endaquac with pinched eyebrows, and tore open the letter. She read it and grinned.

“The letter is from a secret admirer, said the little ‘plaything’ before her is to console her in her loneliness.”

She doesn’t even bother to hide her sneer, thought Endaquac. But then she smiled.

“Well, you can see it was addressed to the wrong person,” Helgamyr said. She looked at Endaquac, who lowered her head slightly, fixing her piercing eyes on the dowager.

“Here Endaquac, you can have the broach.”

“Perhaps Your Majesty should have the crate opened by the security guards who can see what’s inside first, just in case,” the servant suggested.

Endaquac noted a strange, clawed fingernail pierced an air hole in the crate.

“Rubbish, in case of what? Why should I fear this precious gift from an admirer?” Helgamyr nodded to the couriers standing by the crate. “No doubt this is a gift from King Nindax, who has previously expressed his interest in me. The poor man is humiliated and broken now. What possible dangers could this undoubtedly extravagant gift represent? Would you have it reported back to His Majesty that I was suspicious of his intentions? Open the crate at once.”

Cautious, the couriers opened the crate and stood back from it. A small, beaming face blinked as it peered out from the dark interior. Helgamyr was entranced. Mot emerged, childlike in size, and appearing so fragile, so vulnerable.

“The poor dear needs my immediate care and protection,” the dowager said. “Look at the little thing’s great big ears with upper lobes long and pointed yet flopping over.” The little creature’s ears slumped. “What great big eyes, disproportionately large and sad.”

Mot’s dark eyes lit up, seeing the dowager. A great smile beamed on his face as if he recognized the dowager as his long lost mother. Helgamyr snatched him up, clutching him in her arms like a baby and nearly hugged the life out of him.

“You’re so precious,” Helgamyr said in baby talk, squishing her lips and pinching his cheek. She held her toy out before her, looked at him dangling from her grip, and then hugged him back to her in another squeeze.

“Oh dear, he does have a trace of odor. Endaquac, do take my little dear and bathe him.”

Endaquac returned shortly, leading Mot by hand.

“Endaquac, do get our little Mot, you did say his name is Mot didn’t you?” She looked to the messenger for confirmation. “Do get our little Mot something to eat. What does he eat?”

“He eats most any meat, Majesty, but only raw meat,” the messenger said. The man bowed to the dowager and disappeared from the suite.

Mot again beamed the sweetest smile at Helgamyr.

Delighted, the dowager clasped her hands. “Look at our little man.” She tickled Mot under the chin, but the creature pulled away. He sniffed and rushed to a servant bringing a meat tray. Mot grabbed for it, knocking it out of the shocked girl’s hand. The platter bounced on the carpet, but Mot snatched the meat in midair, chewing it with blood running down his dark hands.

“It seems he was hungry,” Endaquac said, leering at the sight. Mot smacked his lips and licked his bloody fingers. She noted the beaming smile from Mot was comforting to the dowager. What’s that, did I see reptilian slits behind those large black eyes? It must be my imagination,
she thought at first, but then the creature flashed an excessively endearing grin at the two women. There’s a cold, shallow insincerity in it. Helgamyr sees what she wants to see. Mentioning suspicions would only alienate her from me as she further defends this little monster pretending helplessness. So be it then.

“You seem so grumpy, Endaquac. Are you jealous of our little man?”

“No, Your Majesty, but it seems strange that Prince Nindax would send this bizarre thing to you. Someone should have examined it before allowing it in your presence. It could be dangerous.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re just envious.” Helgamyr took Mot to her again. Endaquac noted she had waited for him to lick the blood off a finger and then cleaned them with a damp cloth before hugging him again. “If King Zirkin can give Saxthor Tittletot; it’s only right that poor wretch, Prince Nindax, should send me Mot. Such an understanding and considerate man. Perhaps everyone has misjudged him. I hope to know him better soon.”

“Know him better? He’s not coming here to Engwaniria?”

“Of course not, but you know he shares our hatred of that usurper on our throne. I may just travel to Senoshesvas to visit him. After all, what holds me here now? My husband murdered and my only daughter estranged from me and siding with her father’s killer.”

“Majesty, you must not consider traveling to Senoshesvas.”

“We shall see what we shall see.”

Mot picked a tick off his fur and flung it to the floor.

“Poor thing,” Helgamyr said, but she put Mot down.

“Strange, the tick was already dead,” Endaquac said, looking at the dried parasite.

“Nonsense, he just squeezed it too hard. Have one of the servants comb out his fur.” From behind Helgamyr’s back, Mot beamed a great cold grin at Endaquac and raised an eyebrow on his cocked face.

Tottiana rushed into the room. “Mother, what’s this I hear you have accepted some gift from Nindax?”

“What’s it to you? You’ve hardly come to greet me anymore since that man who got you with child has become your only interest. You used to come greet your poor old mother every morning.”