The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (7 page)

“No, but he’s going to —” He gasped as the chains from around Asebor’s legs flew into the air, like vipers to about to strike. The tendrils wound around Darkthorne’s body, becoming black as night. The light shimmering behind his helm winked out and traveled up the chains into Asebor. Asebor’s chains lifted Darkthorne’s body to standing position.

“You have failed me. You disobeyed my command.” Asebor crossed his arms, muscles flexing in his chest.

“Yes, master. It will not happen again.”

“Good, let this be a reminder.” The chains unfurled from around Darkthorne’s body and violently wrapped around his elbow, pulling it over his head.

“Great lord, please no.” Darkthorne grabbed his entangled elbow with his other hand. His armor screamed against the sliding and cutting chains. They ripped across and chewed through his elbow, removing it from the joint down. Darkthorne fell to his side, frantically breathing as the other hand tried to stop the bleeding. Asebor slammed his boot into Darkthorne’s gut and he flew through the air, smashing against the adjacent wall. He fell with sparks buzzing through the slits of his plate.

“Do not disobey me again.”

“Never, never, great lord.” His deep voice quavered.

“You are mine, do not forget our bargain. What can be created can be destroyed.” Asebor inhaled and his saw-toothed mouth formed a smile. “Get back on task, children. Do not let the army move Malek. Get a hold of the situation. If you can’t, I will.”

Asebor gestured towards the writhing Darkthorne. “Remember what happens when you fail me.” Malek rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth, nodding and bowing. “Yes, master.”

Malek stormed down the long corridor, passing the pustule laden bodies of Cerumal and Black Wynches he had slain earlier. A Cerumal crawled across the floor, groaning and reaching a gnarled hand towards him. Its legs had been severed from the thigh down, leaving a river of dark blood behind it.

“I’m amazed you’re still alive,” Malek said.

It had two wisps of gray hair sprouting from its ashen head and a pair of nostrils where its nose should have been. The Cerumal’s mouth snapped at Malek’s foot, inches away from seizing it in its bladed teeth. Malek growled and raised his leg back, preparing to kick the creature in the head. In one fluid motion, he summoned a translucent Phoenix shield around the front of his foot and accelerated the force of his leg with telekinetic strength, allowing him to kick five times as hard. His foot collided with the Cerumal’s skull, smashing it like a blacksmith’s hammer on a grape. The shield vanished, leaving his toes unbroken. He wiped away the beads of sweat that formed on his brow.

Malek glanced through the open door into a room where he had previously found Darkthorne’s maps.

“What else are you hiding Darkthorne?” he whispered.

Malek shut his eyes for a few seconds and opened them, now glowing with a hint of blue light. The armor of the Black Wynches and Cerumal lying on the floor now glowed, indicating their magical nature. He scanned the room again with his enhanced vision, hoping to see something glowing with blue, but it appeared normal.

He turned around and grinned at the sight of a concealed door outlined in dancing wisps of blue light. The glowing rectangle was on the stone wall on the opposite side of the corridor.

He walked to the door and tried to push it open with both hands, but it wouldn’t budge. A waving Phoenix’s tail feather sprung from his finger tip and slipped into the glowing crack. Malek bit the sides of his tongue, tracing the glowing line with the translucent feather, searching for the latch that had to be hidden somewhere.

“There it is, you clever bastard,” Malek said.

He put his ear to the door and listened for the barely perceptible click as he flipped the latch with the Phoenix tail. The door swung open, and inside was another round table and set of chairs, mirroring the room across the corridor.

Malek paused, looking around the empty room. There were cobwebs in a corner and the table had a light coating of dust.

“Nothing? No, this can’t be right.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, grasping for as much of the Phoenix’s power within as he could handle without feeling like he was going to implode.

“I will have to sleep for days after this,” he said. He closed his eyes again, and this time when they opened they shone with a brilliant light that illuminated the room. If there were anyone close to him now, they would’ve been blinded by the light.

“Yes, there it is,” he said, rubbing his hands together and clinking rings against one another. In the back corner of the room, on the wall near the floor, was a hidden alcove, glowing around its edges. Upon the surface of the glowing rectangle was a ward, a circle with six pairs of dots running down the middle, and within the circumference of the circle were letters of the Phoenix trailing around it.

“Magma mine, certainly wouldn’t want that going off.” Malek twisted the amber gem on one of his rings and pointed it at the ward. Malek covered his eyes with one hand and pointed the amber ring at the ward. The ward exploded in a hail of sparks and vanished from the glowing rectangle. He squatted and opened the alcove and his eyes went wide.

He rubbed at his throat, “Darkthorne, you fool.” Within the alcove was the same polished box Darkthorne had presented to Asebor containing the Chains of the North. He pushed himself away from the wall and to his feet, wiping a dusty hand across his mouth.

“The dust added a nice touch of desolation, Darkthorne. Well done, but not well enough,” he whispered, grinning evilly.

Malek’s lips formed a hard line and he shuffled to the doorway, peering up and down the stony hall. The corridors were silent, except for the wind that whipped through from the cave’s mouth, carrying the scent of piss and blood. No attackers, no guards, no Darkthorne. He turned on his heel and went back to the alcove and opened the unadorned box, leaving it in place.

The Chains of the North exploded with brilliant white light. Malek shielded his eyes with his hands and cursed himself for not taking down his Magic Vision. He closed his eyes for a second and opened them as the burned-in image of chain links dissipated from his mind. He released his Magic Vision and saw the mirrored surface of Bonesnapper reflecting nearby torchlight. He carefully lifted the long chains and stowed them in his satchel.

Malek left the entrance to Snowden’s Caverns and a portal sprung to life before him.

“The great lord will not be pleased with you, Darkthorne,” Malek said with a sneer.

W
alter wiped
the golden crumbs of a sweet cake from his lips and took big gulp of elixir. “Where do we start? How could they have possibly gotten so close to the Black Guard? Aren’t those guys supposed to be the best of the best?” He cast his eyes around the table, stopping briefly on Malek, whose eyes were rimmed in a deep red.

“There must be some type of magical power at work,” Baylan said, scratching at his notebook with a quill of shimmering feathers. “Dragon, Phoenix, artifact… I don’t know, something that could make them difficult to detect.”

Nyset rubbed her chin. “Maybe they’re like Zebra Fish, able to blend in with their surroundings.”

“Perhaps, but given the nature of the attack and what happened in Breden, it’s unlikely to be something so benign,” Baylan said.

Grimbald popped an entire sweet cake into his mouth. “Malek, does the king have enemies?” he asked as crumbs tumbled from his mouth onto the table.

“Many, I’m afraid,” Malek said, wiping what looked to be a small trickle of blood from his nose.
He must’ve had quite the night,
Walter thought.

“Feeling okay?” Nyset asked.

“Oh yes, just fine. Just woke feeling a bit ill.”

“Are any of his enemies close to him?” Walter asked.
This one is slimy.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Malek demanded, standing and planting his hands on the dining chamber’s table.

“Just a question, only the guilty are so defensive,” Walter said, echoing the words his father had said to one of the farmers who had stolen from him. They didn’t feel like his words, it was as though they emerged from an ethereal place in his chest.

“If I were an assassin trying to kill the king, do you think I would spend the energy to save a boy who had stuck his foot in a bear trap?”

“Huh?”

“The Cerumal armor you foolishly put on, or have you already forgotten of my generosity?”

“Hey, why don’t we focus on saving our heads, shall we?” Nyset said.

Malek sat down with a sigh. Walter released the Dragon that boiled in his veins.
The Dragon, you fool, control yourself.

“Alright then,” Malek said. “Let’s start by speaking with the Black Guard.” Light streaming from a window bounced from the strange rings he wore. Walter stared at Malek’s hands. One ring looked like a golden claw, another a brilliant ruby, one an eye with a green iris held by clawed hands, another a simple band etched with arcane letters.

“We should inspect the king’s attacker also, shouldn’t we? Inspect the body, I mean? Maybe it will yield some clues as to how it got into the king’s quarters,” Nyset said. She started pulling the leaves from orange flowers, putting them into a pile.

“Excellent idea,” Walter said, nodding in agreement. He reached his hand under the table and rubbed her knee and she smiled, continuing her task.

“More Purists arrived from the east late last night. They’re evidently having some sort of meeting in the city this week,” Baylan said. “It’s a shame that some men still don’t understand that not all wizards are evil.”

“Ignorant bastards,” Walter said, rubbing Stormcaller.

“Don’t these people have anything better to do with their lives?” Grimbald asked. “So much hate and jealousy of those who are different, it’s sad.” Grimbald blew out his cheeks and his eyes drooped.

“What’s wrong Grim?” Walter asked, bumping him with his shoulder.

“Well, I met with the recruiter today. Thanks to this high treason accusation from the King, I am now permanently barred from ever joining the Midgaard Falcon.” He rubbed the wetness from his eyes and then his hands on his tunic. “The air is so dry here,” he said, forcing a laugh. “I guess I’ll have to go home now and work in the tavern with my Pa.”

“Hey now, why don’t you travel with us? We would certainly love to have you,” Walter said.

“Well, you’re all nice to travel with. If you’ll have me that would be good. You don’t tease me much, which I like that too.”

“I don’t know, he sure does eat a lot,” Nyset said, giggling.

“Hey, I don’t eat that much, do I?” he asked, another sweet cake clutched in his hand.

“I’m joking, you silly man,” Nyset said.

“Oh well, I knew that,” he said smiling awkwardly, cheeks reddening.

“Walter, why don’t we go to the king’s open forum today and we could try to get a chance to speak with him,” Baylan said. “Grim, Nyset, Malek would you be willing to investigate the attacker’s body and speak with the Black Guard?”

“I would prefer to speak with the king, as his advisor,” said Malek, reedy arms crossed in defense.

“I understand,” Baylan said. “Perhaps in our line of questioning, we could unearth a different angle of what transpired.”

Good move, Baylan. We need to question the king without Malek. This one smells like sour elixir beans.

“In addition, Nyset and Grimbald will need your presence to get into the dungeons and to speak with the Black Guard.”

“A reasonable point.” Malek placed his hand upon Nyset’s shoulder. “It would be great to get to know you better, this will afford us the time to do that.” She smiled into his eyes.
Too wide a smile.

“Yes I think that would be great. I think there is a lot we can learn from each other. Did I ever tell you I had been studying herbalism for the past five years?”

Walter groaned under his breath. Malek and Nyset got up, heading down the stairs of the Tower of Meditation in spirited conversation.

“Hey, don’t worry, Walt. I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t you worry one bit, my friend.”

“Thanks, Grim. You really don’t have to, but yeah I would appreciate that.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do. You gave me an opportunity to travel here in safety and I am very grateful to you for doing that for me,” Grimbald said, shrugging.

“Jealousy is an ugly emotion, Walter. A plague of the mind. You can only torment yourself by getting wrapped in its embrace. Be content that her interests lie in you, Malek is not a threat,” Baylan said, pushing a hand through his black hair. “Focus on the things that can make you better. You can’t control her or her decisions, you can only control what you think and what you do,” Baylan said.

Malek is not a threat.
The thought didn’t sit right in his head, it just felt wrong.

“It sounds as though you’re speaking from experience?” Walter asked.

“Sadly yes. Learn from my mistakes.”

“
W
hy is
this damn room always so hot?” King Ezra demanded, as if the heat was actively working to make him uncomfortable. “It’s too hot half the day, too cold the other half. There’s not enough air in here, not enough at all. Why don’t these small windows open? We should commission someone to make it so they open.”

“Yes, my king, I will put in a work request to the masons,” said a wiry man in a ridiculous outfit, scratching notes on some paper.

“Why can’t we do this in a grander room?”

“Uh,” stammered the king’s secretary, writing furiously.

“Sir, your public audience has always been held here.” He stopped under the wild gaze of the king. “It’s the way things are.”

“I— I of course know that, you fool,” Ezra stammered, face crimson. “Did I ask you for your damn opinion secretary?”

“Yes, I mean no,” muttered the secretary. “Sorry, my lord.”

Ezra shook his head, sliding his jeweled crown to the side, searching for something else to complain about.

“How many of the peasants must I suffer through today?”

“Two more, your majesty,” the secretary said, sliding spectacles up his sweating nose.

“Shit!” Ezra said, shifting in his chair and flapping air up his shirt. “This is awful!” He reached to a beautifully carved table and took a slurp of wine, spilling some on his lap.

Drinking apparently does not improve his personality,
Walter thought, listening beyond the audience chamber’s entrance. He put a hand on Baylan’s shoulder.

“Oh, there is something I wanted to tell you, I meant to ask you about.”

“Make it quick, before they call us, and keep your voice down,” Baylan whispered.

“What was that strange spell Malek used on the king the night of the attack? The one that looked like a see-through spider?”

“Wait, what?” Baylan stared at him, growing serious. “Did it seem to have segmented legs and a sharp spine at its abdomen? Like a translucent insect?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m assuming that was some type of healing spell?”

“Phoenix, no,” Baylan said, eyes wrinkling in concentration.

“Who is the next fool, Thurber?” the king shouted, interrupting their conversation. Both men stood straight, ready for their turn.

“Uh,” the secretary squinted at his notes, tracing a finger across his writing. “Baylan, a wizard of the Tower and his friend, Walter, an elixir bean farmer.”

“A wizard? A wizard and a farmer, did you say? So we must sit in this absurd heat to listen to a damn farmer moan about why his crop yield has been so terrible this year? Then we’ll have to let this wizard drone on about how the Tower needs even more of our money to fund their damn, useless research.”

“It does seem that they have come to discuss a legitimate concern about the realm, of the recent attacks in Breden and the Nether, that is.”

“Damn it all, I’m tired of hearing about the petty concerns of these commoners. I’ve already sent out a couple battalions, what more do they want?” He took another glug of his wine, getting about half of it into his mouth.

“Show these morons in, would you.”

The doors were opened and two members of the Midgaard Falcon stood on either side. “This way,” one of them said crisply.

Emphasizing the balance of power, the king sat on a raised dais so that even people who stood were far below him if he were sitting.

Walter and Baylan walked in, Walter trailing behind him, feeling very unsure of himself in such an intimidating environment. Six members of the Black Guard formed a wide girth around the king, their eyes in constant motion.

“Well, what is it? What do you want?” Ezra asked, with a wave of his hand.

Every part of the wall and ceiling was carved with intricate detail. Swirling patterns wound around scenes from legends he read about in school, detailed in gleaming gold, silver, and gems of the brightest red, blue, and green. The floor appeared to be a giant picture of incredible complexity, inlaid with polished smooth gems, each worth more than his farm in Breden. Long stained-glass windows bathed the room in brilliant colors.

Walter watched as Baylan kneeled, raising an eyebrow, unsure what to do.

“Kneel,” Baylan hissed. Walter promptly dropped to his knees and remembered where he was.
This is the king, the king of all of Zoria. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?

“Is there something wrong with him? Is he lame?” Ezra asked, leaning forward.

“I’m not sure, my lord,” Thurber said.

“I wasn’t asking you, Thurber. Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“He is from the country, a farmer, not used to the formalities of the city, your lordship,” Baylan said, looking up.

“Unbelievable. Don’t children go to school and learn these things? Well, get on with it then.” Walter winced.

“You may rise to your feet,” the secretary said, raising his hand.

“If you’re here to get more money for the Tower, don’t expect another mark from our coffers until next —”

“No sir, of course not. The Tower is very grateful for your generosity, my kingship. No, this is a matter of great import.” Baylan’s voice boomed through the room with a power that commanded respect. Thurber flinched at this tonality change.

“Yes, yes, go on,” he said, thick, his white beard undulating.

“It would be best if we could speak in private.”

“There is certainly nothing so important that everyone in this room cannot hear it.”

“Sir, this is about events related to the wound on your arm, the one that in all likelihood isn’t healing very well.” The king’s eyes focused on Baylan briefly and then flitted about the room. He hiccupped and took another sip of wine.

“I see,” he said, his voice losing its tone of annoyance and slipping into a darker, brooding tone.

“Be gone, all of you,” he said with a wave of his cup, slopping wine on the floor.

“Us as well?” the Black Guard asked, looking none too pleased at the request.

“Did you not hear me, Lajoy? I said be gone, all of you,” Ezra said, pounding his little hand upon the throne.

Lajoy grunted and walked to Walter and Baylan. He stared daggers into Walter’s eyes and roughly patted them down for a second time.

“If anything happens to him you’ll answer to me,” Lajoy said, running a finger along the many daggers fastened to his belt.

“The king will be just fine, I assure you” Baylan said, eyeing the guard. Lajoy grumbled and walked away, leaving the three of them together.

“This boy, Walter,” Baylan said, meeting the king’s gray eyes. “He lost his family during the raid last month in Breden. I, in fact, have fought the Death Spawn that attacked the village. These are the same creatures I believe that have attacked you.”

“I am very sorry for your loss son, but rest assured I have sent the armies to protect your village. If you are looking for some type of compensation, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can —”

“Surely, my lord,” Baylan cut in. “You understand the gravity of what is happening. You studied the histories of Asebor in the ‘Age of Dawn’ haven’t you?”

“A children’s story. Everybody knows that these attacks were done by bandits looking for attention, or coin, likely both. Maybe it’s these Purists, another annoying gang to deal with. Death Spawn, pah!”

“No,” Baylan said. “Look me in the eyes and tell me what attacked you was human. I heard you in your quarters, in your delirium after the attack, ordering the army to move against—”