The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (48 page)

“The sword must have a shielding spell on it,” Hyden spoke his thoughts out loud. He was amazed that it made such sense to him. “When in close proximity to the marrow in the skulls its shield is activated. It’s a demon sword, so there must be demon blood or demon matter present for it to work beyond normal. The Tokamac Verge magnified the sword shield’s power to make the dome we entered to get here. The shield, though, only protected what was close to it. Once the radiant power was magnified, it lost its density, but the power expanded and held because of the Tokamac crystal’s influence.”

“By the Heart of Arbor,” Corva said in exasperation. “What are you trying to say?”

Jicks's answer didn’t sound sure, but he spoke up just the same. “The skulls aren’t charred because they are demon skulls and the sword protected them as it would the person wielding it.”

“Aye,” Hyden nodded. “Explain the rest of it, if you can.”

“The blue energy shield we went through was like a fishing net, but the holes in it were stretched so big that only a gigantic fish could get caught in it.”

“Not a fish, a dragon,” Durge said as his mind grasped the concept.

“Its old elven magic, Corva,” Hyden said. “But the sword was made for a man. The shield protects the man when he was fighting a demon, that’s why demon matter activates it.” He turned to Jicks, gave a half-formal nod, and presented him with the blade. “You get the honors. Don’t waste your time sharpening it by the fire. This is spell-forged steel. It will never dull.”

Jicks was speechless as he took it.

Hyden shook his head and started out of the room. Huffa sensed his sudden urgency and yipped at the other two wolves as she padded out behind him.

Corva skip-stepped to catch up with Hyden. The others lagged behind, moving at a normal pace. They had been climbing the accessible levels of the towers throughout the day, and Hyden’s desire to hurry wasn’t shared by all of them at the moment.

“If that blade was made by my people’s magic for a human, it must be ancient,” Corva said to Hyden Hawk as he gained his side. “Is it from the time of Pavreal and Ironspike?”

“Strangely, Corva, I sense that it is thousands of years older than Errion Spightre. Its existence implies far more than I want to consider at the moment. Whether it’s the Verge crystal magnifying my concern, or a feeling it is trying to send me, all I can think about is getting to Xwarda. I have a feeling…” He didn’t finish the sentence out loud. He could see no reason to get the others alarmed and overly excited. The balance of things had just been tipped so far toward the side of the light, that the backswing of the scales might be catastrophic. He had a strange feeling that by doing his goddess’s bidding, he had done something terrible.

Hyden ignored the praises from the strange villagers that night. Their prophecy had come to pass. His business here was done and things were weighing heavy on his mind. Durge, Corva, and Jicks, though, reveled in the glory the colorfully haired people were bestowing on them.

Over the next day, they made their way back across the empty plain, past the twisting trees and through the Shoovway. When they emerged back into the Giant Mountains they were in the midst of a blizzard. The whole way, Hyden pondered the intentions of his goddess, and his own more personal conflict with Gerard. To cause evil, in order to defeat evil, was a strange concept to him. He couldn’t be certain that what they had done would result in anything terrible, but the feeling of dread hung in his guts like a fist of ice. The urge to hurry grew inside him with every step he took. He was certain that each moment they dallied now carried the weight of lives with it. Even the animals in the mountains acted as if they expected something bad to happen. The hardest part of the sensation for Hyden was the fact that he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was the powerful thing his brother had become who would be the bringer of death and pain.

The only thought that relieved Hyden of the strange anxiety and guilt he felt was that the goddess knew these dark days were coming before he and his companions had gathered the powerful artifact.

By the time they neared the circular symbol carved into the floor that would teleport them back to Afdeon, Hyden’s fear and worry had all but consumed him. Not only in his waking thoughts, but now in his dreams, he saw blood and pain manifested in every way fathomable. From lethal battle wounds and destroyed cities, to wailing mothers huddled over mangled children. Visions of tortured friends and enslaved families plagued his mind feverishly. Finally, with Afdeon only a half day of hard travel away, Hyden crumbled under the weight of the darkness that was pressing down on him. He fell from Huffa’s back, face first into the icy track and lay there unconscious.

***

The wigmaker’s orbs bulged as Shaella’s dagger jerked up from between her sagging breasts. The Warlord stared through Shaella’s eyes into the old crone’s, and trembled with delight. Watching the sparkle of life fade from his victims was thrilling. In that moment, the Warlord was privy to the mind of the life he was extinguishing. The terrible things some of the good folk had done were surprising.

This particular soul intrigued him. In her younger days, this dying wench had poisoned her first husband to inherit his wealth. While trying to seduce a younger, more vigorous man, she had killed her unborn child to avoid motherhood. Later in life, guilt consumed her. She donated much of the profits she made from making wigs and reading the cards of fortune. This made the Warlord laugh. Humans were so foolish. The gods of light cared even less for regretful groveling than he did. A dark soul was a dark soul. And no amount of coin or regret could take that away.

The joy of this kill now extinguished, the Warlord shoved the old woman's corpse away and disrobed.

Standing before a full-length looking glass, Shaella tried on wig after wig, finally settling on one of long, raven-black hair. Her hair had been that way in life, but without the dragon’s fire scar across her temple, or the dagger scar under her eye, the Warlord doubted she would be recognized.

She had attacked Xwarda before, on the back of the great red dragon she’d tricked into service. No one there would recognize her, for she had been wearing battle gear, not a noble woman's dress. She straightened the bodice of the blue garment. The dressmaker’s life light had irritated the Warlord with the kindness it contained. The only thing about the death of her that pleased him was that her kindness was no longer in the world. Satisfied that Shaella looked like any other privileged young lady in the realm, he motioned for the wagon master to lead her back to the carriage.

The large trading town of Platt, where they were, was only a half-day’s ride to Xwarda. The excited Warlord had to remind himself that getting to the Wardstone and breaching the minor boundaries was only the first step in his plan. He wasn’t in his own body, therefore he wouldn’t be placing his own hands on the Wardstone yet. Through Shaella, he could cause a breach. After he left the Nethers in his own body through that opening and embraced the Wardstone himself, he could destroy the boundary altogether. Some of his legions would leave with him by way of the breach Shaella created, enough to take the city before him. The rest of his horde would have to wait until he got there.

A few hours later the carriage stopped. The Warlord heard, through Shaella’s ears, the wagon master speaking with a stern-voiced man. A quick look out of the curtained window showed him that they had reached Xwarda’s southern gate. The confident urge to unleash his power, to try to battle for success, had to be suppressed. A soft knock on the carriage door helped push the thought aside, but did little to calm the Lord of the Darkness. Hands trembling with anticipation, Shaella reached and opened the door.

“My lady,” the guardsman said as he peeked into the carriage, “just a precaution.” He smiled at her. “We’re sorry to intrude.” With that, the door closed softly.

“Let them pass,” the man called out, and the sound of rattling chains and creaking gates followed.

If the castle gate is as easy to pass through, then I will be feasting on the terror of men by nightfall,
the Warlord said to himself. He worked fervently to stay calm. His minions had worshipers here to aid him. They wouldn’t dare misstep as Lord Vidian’s patron devil had. He had made a clear example of the price he demanded for failure. He also made sure that the rewards for success were so great that none of the banished would leave anything they could control to chance.

From deep inside the Warlord stirred the tiny bit of Gerard Skyler that remained. He’d crawled into the depths of the Nethers seeking power. Now he had so much of it that it wasn’t him anymore. He’d been among the hellborn so long that he was like them now. Only, he had eaten the yolk of a dragon’s egg and had become something greater than all of them. He was the Warlord, the Abbadon, the Lord Master of Hell and Darkness and only one more gate, and a leisurely stroll into Queen Willa’s palace, was all that stood between him and his dominance of the mortal world.

For a moment, Gerard remembered Hyden and his cousins. He remembered the joy he had felt climbing the cliffs and dreaming of what he’d spend the money on that he earned for his harvest. But that memory was fleeting, for even the part of the Warlord that was still Gerard Skyler was lusting to bring the terror as much as the rest of the Warlord.

The guard at the palace gate was more cautious than the first. His steely eyes and the stripes on his shoulder showed he held some authority. Beyond him, on the wall the gate was set into, the Warlord saw the most peculiar sight. One of the Wedjakin was cursing angrily at a device made out of wood and steel that was mounted at the edge of the parapet.

“Don’t be alarmed, my lady,” the guard said gruffly, but in an obvious attempt to soothe her. “They are frightening creatures to look upon, but they fight for Queen Willa and the High King now.”

She nodded and made an expression of distaste. When she met his eyes, she dropped hers and smiled.

“Sir Hyden Hawk had Queen Willa put the wall guard on full alert. Unless you have legitimate business at the palace, my lady, I cannot let you pass.” He shrugged apologetically. “If you tell me why you’ve come, I’ll have a runner see if the castellan will let you in.”

Shaella smiled sadly and hugged herself in a somewhat ashamed manner. “My uncle, Lord Vidian, was arrested in Weir some days ago,” she said with her eyes focused on the soldier’s boots. “I must see him. As distasteful as his betrayal of the queen’s law is, I… I…” she stifled a tear and hid her face. “This is so embarrassing, so demeaning, sir. I’m ashamed.” After a long pause filled with sniffling and whining, she finished. “There are family matters, responsibilities both legal and personal, that his arrest has left unattended. I must speak with him to see what arrangements can be made.”

The sergeant was speechless. It was clear he felt Shaella’s embarrassment. The news of the Lord of Weir’s betrayal and arrest was common knowledge.

“Do you not have a husband to attend these matters?” he asked.

She shook her head in the negative and started to cry that much harder.

“You’re a strong and beautiful lady. I will see Master Dugak about the issue myself.” He reached into the carriage and patted her reassuringly. “If you will stay in your carriage, I will have your driver pull in and find somewhere out of the way for you to wait.”

“You are too kind, good sir,” the Warlord replied through Shaella’s roughened vocal chords. “Would you please be discreet? I… I…” She broke into another sob. “I can’t stand the embarrassment. If people know who I am, they will stare and whisper about my uncle. I just can’t.”

“On my sword, my lady,” the solider promised. “And Master Dugak may be an old, grumpy dwarf, but he is kind and wise. I’m sure he and I can help you put this nastiness behind you as quickly as possible.”

With an evil grin that was hidden by a down-turned head and Shaella’s long black wig, the Warlord sniffled and nodded. She softly sobbed until the sergeant closed the carriage door. The Master of Hell had to laugh, because the driver pulled the carriage through the portal into an open area of lawn. The Warlord was inside.

Soon, so very soon, all hell would come breaking loose.

Hyden opened his eyes and blinked away the dizziness. A glance around told him that he was back in bed in the Afdeon apartment. As the memory of the dwarf’s death, the young green dragon, and the finding of the Tokamac Verge all came crashing back into his head, he jumped up in alarm. It was a mistake. A thunder clap of pain exploded behind his eyes, taking his breath from him.

Now sitting on the side of the bed, he held his head in his hands and gasped for air. The feelings of darkness and imminent destruction that plagued him on the trail were mostly gone. Only a deep clot of unease remained; that and pain.

“Take it easy,” Corva said from a chair in the corner of the room.

“How long have we been here?” Hyden asked with wincing concern.

“Only a few hours,” Corva said. “The sun has only recently set.”

“Where’s the crystal?”

“There.” Corva pointed to a small table along the wall. The crystal sat shimmering next to a single candle that flickered there.

“It magnifies more than magical energy,” Hyden said. “It took my fears and worries and compounded them until I was overcome.”

“When I took it from your pack at the teleportal, it did the same to me,” Corva said. “It showed me a hundred possible ill fates that Princess Telgra, Dostin, and Phen might have shared on their way to the Evermore. Luckily, I let Jicks take it from my hands.”

“Who took it from his?”

“Well, it seems that Jicks has a more positive outlook. He's not worried about much. The crystal magnifies his pride and his hunger. He hurried the Verge in here then marched through the kitchens to find some food.”

“We’ve got… I’ve got to get it to Xwarda.” The pain behind Hyden’s eyes was ebbing away. “I’ve got to get the High King to Xwarda, too. It will take him, Ironspike, and the power of the Wardstone, along with that crystal, to do what I must do.” The thought of all that raw magical energy in one place made him shudder.