Severed Empire: Wizard's War (28 page)

The magic came out of her in wisps of green, and yellow.

He breathed it in, nearly choking it all down. There was more magic inside the witch than had been in the other wizards. Ida might have been more powerful than he’d given her credit for; more than she’d let be known.

She was on all fours now, the magic spewing out of her mouth and into his.

He inhaled deeply once he realized he wasn’t repulsed by the idea of absorbing her nastiness into his system, but enjoyed the warmth her magic brought. It coursed through his body, and made his skin tingle.

Tingle and glow.

He saw the shades of his flesh redden before softening to a light shade of orange, green, yellow, and then back to normal.

Ida collapsed onto her face. Her chin smacked rock. A tooth flew from her mouth.

Cordillera rolled his finger onto his thumb, and flicked the tooth across the room. “There. That wasn’t so terrible, now was it?”

Chapter 24

“This is it. Right there,” Basin said. He pointed up.

Mykal looked up, as did the others. “What’s right there?” he said.

“The entrance into King Cordillera’s castle,” Basin said. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. On my way back, I will stay with Coil for a bit, make sure he is comfortable. I won’t stay with him until you all return—”

“I don’t see an entrance to the castle, Basin,” Mykal said.

“Not from here you can’t.” Basin’s shoulders shook while he snickered. He jabbed a thumb in Mykal’s direction, as if to say,
kids
.

“You said we come out in the servant quarters,” Quill said.

“Yes. And you will,” Basin said. “Look. Have you ever seen Cordillera’s castle before? It sits at the top of the Rames. We are in the bowels of the mountains. You want to get inside the castle undetected; you have to climb up to it. It’s what I brought the rope for. To guide us; and to help you get up the inside of the mountain.”

“Rope’s going to help us get up a mountain?” Quill said.

“It’s going to keep some of your from falling to your death,” Basin said.

Eadric stood next to his wife; head tipped back, and stared up into the darkness. The few torches they carried did nothing to chase away the black. Mykal began sweating. His breathing became shallow. He ran his palms down his pants.

“Mykal?” Anna said.

“I, uh, I’m not good with heights. Or tight spaces. This climb looks like it is going to combine a bit of both,” he said. He was answering his mother, but also felt like he was just speaking out loud.
I can do this, I can do this
, he thought. He had ventured up and across the Zenith Mountains. That had been a little different. It was open space. He had been outside. His claustrophobia hadn’t kicked in as well.

Mykal knew they’d already wasted too much time. His senses were frayed, over stimulated. Bad magic was being used inside the castle. He was overcome by a feeling of pain and death. It was such a constant sensation, that he finally had to tuck it away. It would become crippling if he let it overtake his mind.

He had lost track of time. Days-, weeks-, months. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his grandfather. He missed his life on the farm more than anything. Climbing the inside of the cave into the castle and defeating King Hermon Cordillera might be the only way he’d ever have a chance of returning to his old way of life. It was a slim chance, but that was the hope he held onto, with both hands.

“I’m going first,” Mykal said. Grandfather had explained that life revolved around three D’s. Drive. Dedication. Determination. These three things were essential for accomplishing the seemingly impossible task. He’d often said there was no point in beginning something new unless the D’s were a part of the plan. There was no room for failing. People depended on them. If Galatia was still alive, and Mykal had every reason for suspecting she was, then he was going to save her. They were going to rescue her.

***

Hermon watched his father, King Elroy, strut through the Cordillera castle, his long red cape dragged on the floor behind him. Hermon moved from pillar to pillar, keeping to the shadows. At the long room, before opening the doors, King Elroy stopped walking and suddenly spun around.

Hermon gasped. He’d been caught. He thought for sure he’d maneuvered the halls with stealth, undetectable by any other living soul.

“Do you want to know what disappoints me the most, young prince of mine?” Elroy said. His face was pale, skin sagged. Dark bags encircled eyes that bugged out from defined sockets. In the last few months the poison Hermon was feeding his father began taking noticeable tolls on the king’s appearance. He reminded the prince of a ghost, a living ghost.

Hermon knew better than to answer his father’s rhetoric. The king was mad when it came to rhetoric. He would ask a question, and wait for long, long minutes in silence. It was like he expected an answer. He didn’t. The worse thing Hermon could have done was attempt a reply. That would only ensure he’d bear his father’s wrath. It was a lesson that took several occasions before being fully learned.

The silence lingered between them. The temptation was there, as if this time the king expected an answer from his son, but Hermon bit his tongue. He actually drew blood. Swallowing coppery blood, he stood still, his hands laced together. He wondered why he’d bothered following his father in the first place. Since Jeremiah’s death, Hermon was not just an only child, he was also an orphan. Worse, he was invisible. No one recognized him. The staff inside the castle preferred pretending they didn’t see him, rather than risk reprimand from the king for engaging the prince.

“My greatest disappointment when I look at you is that I can see the fraud your truly are. You don’t fool me.” He let out a short, thick laugh. It was deep sounding, and echoed down the rock hallway. “You aspire to wear my crown one day, and while it will unfortunately come to fruition eventually, no one will follow you. You are not a leader.
You
are a coward. Hiding with your nose in books, and playing by yourself in dark hallways is ridiculous. It’s a waste of your youth. I am embarrassed when I see you. Did you know that? When dignitaries visit, and ask to meet you, I say you’re busy. Or, off training. I lie to them; I lie to my guests because you embarrass me. Your puny arms, and girlish legs, that high pitched voice, and even your long eyelashes—it’s an embarrassment. My subjects are going to demand a king who makes them feel safe. You are weak, feeble, and alone, Hermon. Alone. I wish Jeremiah was still alive. He was first in line, and a born leader. My blood was dominant in his veins. You are more like your mother,” he said. His words seethed with hatred, anger, and betrayal.

There was nothing worse than when his father made fun of his dead mother. She was a wonderful woman, as best he could remember. She tolerated Elroy’s shortcomings and still made the best of her life. The king thought comparing him to his mother was an insult. It wasn’t.

The prince had a retort trapped in the back of his throat:
It is your job to train me! You should be working with me. If you don’t teach me how to rule, how am I supposed to learn? I am alone because you have shunned me from your life! You have forced others to shun me inside my own home! The reason your subjects will find my rule suspect is because of the pompous king that you are.

King Elroy squatted down, getting eye level with his only son. The king’s stare was empty, vacant. Hermon searched them for any sign of warmth, or love. There was nothing.

“I am going to be
more
than a king, father,” Hermon said. He felt warm blood roll onto his lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wished he’d kept biting down on his tongue. He knew better than to speak, especially when his father was in a ranting mood. There comes a point when holding back no longer works, and the flood of emotions smash through the mental dam.

“No man is more than a king, fool.”

“He is if he becomes emperor.”

King Elroy stood up, fast. He slapped a hand onto his thigh. He laughed hard, and loud. It ended after a moment in a fit of coughing. Spittle sprayed out of the king’s mouth, but he didn’t cover his face. The coughing lasted longer than the laughing, and his face turned red. He looked like he might be having a hard time catching his breath.

I
am
going to become the next emperor
, Hermon almost said. He realized his father didn’t have much longer to live. He couldn’t. To be safe he would increase the amount of poison added to the food he served the king. That would increase the dying process tenfold. And then, like it or not, he would be king. He would inherit the crown. There was no need for seeking his father’s approval, or blessing.

Hermon knew he was not a fake, or weak, or a coward.

He was just like his mother, thankfully.

As he walked the hallways, away from the long room, his head down, he heard burst of laughter, and coughing and did his best to ignore the humiliation, and hide his fast-flowing tears.

***

King Hermon Cordillera lifted the dagger. He looked over at Galatia. Her eyes were open, watching him.

“I want to help you,” he said. “I can heal you. Just like Ida used to heal you, I can now do the same.”

She closed her eyes, and turned her head away. That was her response. She didn’t want the healing. He was sure she now preferred death. Death was the easy way out. He would not deliver her into that freedom. Not yet, not until he was certain about everything.

The idea of having a son, of this sorceress bearing him a son, excited him.

He thought of his daughters upstairs. They shared a bed, and together comforted each other as they spent the night missing their mother. They were lucky to have him as their father. Not just because he was a king, was about to become an emperor, but because he loved them enough, to rid them of the cancer that was the woman who gave birth to them. They were lucky because there had never been expectations placed on them. At some point in the next few years he would marry them off. They would become queens in distant lands, where fat and happy they would live out the rest of their days.

It was why having a son was so important.

He didn’t just want a son. He needed one.

“I want you to call Matteo,” Cordillera said. “This is his dagger. You have the ability to summon the wizard. Once you have done this for me I will heal you of all the pain you feel. It will be gone. I will untie you, and nurse you back to perfect health. You will become my queen, my empress. Together we will rule, no one will be able to stop us.”

Alone, he was going to be unstoppable, but wanted his words to comfort. She needed encouragement. It was up to him to share the vision. When she saw the inevitable future of power, wealth, and success, she’d come around to his way of thinking and welcome the proposal of marriage. The subjects in his kingdom would fill the courtyard and cheer for the union.

He touched her chin and forced her head around. She blinked back tears.

The gag in her mouth was covered in blood.

He wanted to remove it, and would but for her magic.

“Summon Matteo,” he said. He’d caught Pendora unaware. Osuald was somewhat ready for a fight, possibly having sensed a disturbance between wizards. He’d be more prepared this time.

He set the dagger’s hilt into her hand. It looked awkward beside the shackled wrist.

She opened her fingers. The dagger fell from the table. It clattered on the floor.

Pursing his lips, eyes concentrating on the item, Cordillera called the dagger into his hand. “Do
not
let that happen a second time,” he said. It was even more amazing than he dreamed. Magic was what had been missing in his life. That vacant hole was filling.

The time for playing games inside Galatia’s mind had come and gone. Finesse was no longer an option. The sorceress was going to learn her place. Following his commands was the only way she’d avoid additional punishment. He didn’t care how strong she was, everyone had a breaking point.

Sometimes people needed breaking before they learned to listen.

Chapter 25

Mykal’s legs dangled loose. He’d lost his footing. The rock cut into both of his palms from supporting the weight of his body. If he let go, not only would he fall, but the others might, too. He’d pull them down with him. Everyone was tethered together by the ropes. Basin indicated the ropes would save them in such an instance, but Mykal suspected it only counted toward those lower on the rungs of the climb.

Sweat rolled down his brow and into his face; the salty beads stung his eyeballs. He tried blinking away the perspiration, but to no avail. His strength was quickly depleting. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hang from his hands. His fingers were numbing.

Mykal concentrated on pulling himself up. He strained, as his chin reached the same level as his hands. He legs kicked back, and found a connection on the wall of rock behind him. It was an askew sixty-degree angle, with his arms and head at the top. The idea of walking up between the walls sounded like a good idea. Carrying out the plan was far more difficult than expected. He was well aware of the rope around his waist. He couldn’t see anyone below him. They were all silent, as if they realized he was in something of a predicament and were patiently waiting.

They wouldn’t have to wait long. If he couldn’t regain momentum in the climb, he was going to succumb and fall.

His muscles burned. His arms and legs felt rubbery.

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.

The thing bothering him most was that magic was available, but it couldn’t be used. It was frustrating. It didn’t matter that before this journey he had no idea he was a wizard, and would have had to make the climb on his own, because he knew now that he had magic. He could levitate everyone. The danger of falling would be eliminated, but no. Using magic was a big fat no-no!