The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (47 page)

“Aye.” Jicks nodded.

Just then the room darkened slightly, and several of the women buzzing around the long table yelped in fright. Durge chuckled and shrugged at the others. The giant had blown out the flaming wick in the pot nearest him because the smoke was rising and collecting around his head. Seeing that the gods weren’t bringing down their wrath on them, the women calmed themselves and went back to readying the table.

Outside, Hyden and the shaman weren’t doing well communicating until Talon and Urp began to help. The wolf and the hawkling enlisted the aid of a curious sparrow and a terrified goat that seemed to understand the shamans’ dialect. Through the animals’ strange translations, Hyden learned that for hundreds of years, on each full moon, a sacrifice to the dragons had been sent out from the dome. Since the changing of the seasons, almost two years ago, no one had come forth. Hyden contemplated the timing. It was almost two years earlier, at the Summer’s Day festival, that the pact that bound Claret to guard Pavreal’s seal had been broken. Hyden was certain that it wasn’t a coincidence.

All he could do at this point was nod his understanding to the shaman. The animals couldn’t speak back to the excited man. Hyden still had to convey his questions with stick drawings.

He did learn that the people who lived around the magical field were descendants of, or the actual people, who had been cast out of the world inside. They could go back in, but would be killed by some evil beast called the Saki if they did. No one had been brave enough to try. None of them wanted to. The Saki’s master, a devil god the shamans called Bavzreal, or something similar, lived in the towers with a tribe of black-scaled guardians. The shaman said that all of the humans inside were slaves. They had been born and bred only to serve Bavzreal. Being sent out to feed the dragon as a sacrifice was the only hope they had for freedom. Luckily for them, the dragon didn’t venture too close to the powerful barrier, and a lot of the sacrifices were never killed.

Hyden took all this in. Amazingly, he was starting to understand the excited man’s words without the help of the animals. Under his shirt, he could still feel the warm tingling of Claret’s tear as it fountained out its magic. The shaman went on, now speaking in a feverish tone full of hope and conviction, with more than a little fear showing in his eyes.

“It was foretold that you would come to us, Beast Master,” the shaman said, pointing an almost accusatory finger at Hyden. “We have waited and prayed to you with all our hearts and hopes. Is it true you will take this wall down and give us the citadel inside? It was built with the sweat and blood of our ancestors. It is our destiny to inherit the fruit of their labors.”

“Do the beast and the devil god still reside within?” Hyden asked.

The shaman’s eyes grew wide, hearing his own language learned and spoken back to him so quickly.

“Some were seen fleeing in the night shortly after the sacrifices stopped,” the shaman shrugged. “The rest of them are surely inside. Once there were many dragons in our sky, now only a few.”

“Are there other places, villages near here?” Hyden asked.

“There are giants and people like us across the mountains, or so the stories say. We were brought from across the sea to be here. We are few, and out there,” he indicated the expanse of barren land around them, “only dragons, and other beasts, and the roaming tribes of Wedjakin.”

When asked who the Wedjakin were, the shaman described a large race of people, not quite as big as Durge, and only partially human. Hyden pictured Bzorch, the Lord of Locar, as the man described them. He was pretty sure that the Wedjakin were breed giants. That’s what King Aldar had hinted at, too.

Figuring that they would have to face down this Bavzreal and his Saki beast to retrieve the Tokamac Verge, Hyden reassured the shaman that they would at least attempt to fulfill the prophecy of which he spoke. With that, the shaman led him to the others and the feast began.

Huffa and the great wolves were given the goat that had helped the sparrow translate for the shaman. As hungry as the wolves were, they gave the goat a reprieve. Worried that they had offended the mounts of the gods, a different goat was brought to them. This one was older and fatter. The terrified, bleating beast didn’t fare as well as its fellow. Huffa’s generosity only went so far.

Over roasted goat and a strange sweet stew, the companions learned from Hyden what he had gathered. They could do nothing but accept the fact that they might have to face beasts and devils on the morrow. They were all firmly committed to the task.

They slept well enough. Then another feast-like ceremony, where the colorful women fed them boiled eggs and an energizing fruit drink while bowing and singing a repetitious chant, was held for them. When that was done, the shaman showed them where the sacrificial slaves came out of the glassine barrier.

Hyden touched the energy field tentatively at first, then abruptly he stepped into it. Talon followed, flying right through. Huffa was next, and the others weren’t far behind.

The magical substance was warm, but seemed otherwise harmless. Once inside, the world took on an aqua-colored tint, like being under the surface of water on a bright, sunny day. Outside the sphere, the chants and cheers of the outcast people were at a crescendo, but as the last of them came through, it disappeared altogether.

No devils or frightening creatures awaited them. In fact, the area inside the dome seemed to be devoid of life entirely. The terrain was flat, just like outside, but this expanse was covered with twisted, thorny bushes that looked to have been scorched to a fragile crisp. Just rubbing against them caused them to powder and fall away. There was no trace of wind blowing. The ground rose slightly up to the blocky base of the trio of towers that sat in the distance. Like long, glossy black spears, each one taller than the last, the towers reached up in a triangular pattern from the squat building at their bottom.

The nearly five-mile trek revealed nothing but desolation. It was like some great flash fire or magical incendiary had burned everything to ash so swiftly that it never had a chance to fall from its place. The ground between the ashy semblance of thorn shrubs and garden roses was cracked and deeply parched. Not a bird or a mouse, or even a single insect, stirred as they passed.

The castle’s grand oaken doors were like the foliage, eradicated to cinders, yet still in place. Durge took a deep breath and blew the door away as if it were dust. When he was done, only the long iron hinge bands remained.

“What could have happened here?” asked Jicks.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Durge answered.

“Whatever happened, I think it happened at the exact same time the Dragon Queen broke Pavreal’s seal,” Hyden said as he eased inside the smooth, black-walled structure.

“Maybe the demons Peal summoned, like the one who killed Vaegon, came here,” Corva suggested.

“It’s possible,” Hyden told them as they took in the entryway. “Several wyvern, and the hellcat that took Vaegon’s eye, came around long before he opened the seal with my brother’s blood.” Hyden cast his orb light into being. The torches in the tarnished sconces were cindered like the rest of the flammable materials under the dome.

Even with all of them exploring, it took most of the day to find what they were after, and the whole time not even a breath of air stirred, save for that of their own passing.

They found it sitting proudly on a pedestal on the top floor of the squat base of the castle in an open room. It was a chunk of crystal, bright and vivid, with prismatic shades. From the dark color of a stormy sea to the lightest pastel of the sky, three multifaceted shards the size of scroll cases jutted out of a jagged base. The crystal gleamed majestically, but Hyden could sense its idleness. He could also sense its massive power. It might have caused the dome of magical energy around them, and affected the rings of earth beyond it, but it wasn’t sustaining anything.

That made sense to Hyden. If the goddess had told him true, that it had somehow caused the barriers between the heavens and hells, and the separation of the layers within, the device wasn’t required to sustain its creations.

“It’s amazing,” Corva observed, peering his keen eyes close to the object to get a better look. “It’s like fish oil on water, but inside the surface.”

Durge looked casually at the crystal then eased out of the room to explore the rest of the floor they were on. They had passed a few rooms along the corridor leading to the prize and apparently he was curious as to what else might be displayed in them.

Huffa, at Hyden’s silent instruction, sniffed at the air. She sensed no danger, nor did Talon. The hawkling was outside, circling the towers and watching for danger. Hyden studied the incredible artifact. He was pretty certain that it had caused all of the destruction around them.

Suddenly, Oof growled from a dark corner of the room. Just as quickly as the wolf sensed the danger, he whined, then wagged his body in a show of embarrassment. Hyden strode over to the corner, and before he got there he heard first Corva’s fine elven blade, then Jicks’s standard-issue sword come out of their sheaths. His orb light showed him why.

Slumped in the corner, with claw hands held out in a defensive gesture, was the charred corpse of some grotesque partially human beast that was easily half again as big as a giant. Hyden kicked at its head and most of its upper torso whirled away in a cloud of ash.

“Well met, Bavzreal,” Hyden jested coldly. “I hope the Saki beast met the same fate.”

“He must have tried something with the Verge,” Corva said.

“Let’s hope he didn’t try to move it,” Hyden replied.

“It was more than that, Sir Hyden Hawk,” Jicks said as he slid his sword back in place. The boy had a pleased look about himself as he went on. “Didn’t he have to put it there in the first place?”

“Aye,” Hyden grinned. “Just call me Hyden, Jicks. Save the formalities for Mik.”

“Aye,” Jicks nodded.

Hyden was about to pick up the Tokamac crystal when Durge called out from another of the rooms. His voice was so deep and loud that it was impossible to tell if it was pain, fear, or just excitement that his tone inflected. Either way, it was an insistent call, and all of them started toward it.

***

After crossing on the ferry barge into the Highwander city of Weir, the Warlord, using Shaella’s body, told her wagon master to seek out Lord Vidian. The dark-natured lord had made a pact with the demon Cazlear in exchange for some granted powers of charm and influence. Xwarda was but a few short days away. The Warlord planned on using the man’s credentials, or the man himself, if necessary, to get Shaella into Xwarda.

A knock at the carriage door drew Shaella’s attention. With the hood of her cloak pulled over her spiky-haired head, Shaella opened the door and looked out sheepishly. Seeing that it was just the wagon master, she sneered and urged him in.

“Did you find him?” It was the deep, multi-timbral voice of the Warlord speaking through her now.

After seeing her leave a trail of young men’s corpses behind them, the wagon master had lost his desire for her body. Shaella didn’t care because he still served her out of fear.

“No, mastress,” he groveled from the carriage’s open doorway. “He was arrested and taken to the queen’s dungeon in Xwarda over a week ago.” The wagon master trembled and sniffed apologetically, as if it were his fault Lord Vidian was arrested. “There was some sort of corruption. Too many rumors to say which ones are true.”

The Warlord growled deeply. It was a sound impossible for Shaella’s vocal chords to reproduce, and it came out of her like a throat-tearing gurgle. The bringer of death was enraged by this development, yet his destination was still the same. When he got to Xwarda, he would have to find a way to get into the palace.

“Take me to Xwarda.” Shaella’s torn throat brought the words out in a raspy hiss.

“Yes, mastress.”

A moment later the carriage lurched forward and began rocking and swaying its way north along the Pixie River.

The Warlord retreated from his hostess’s body, leaving her whimpering and mindless from the pain his outburst had caused. Once back in the Nethers, he found the demon Cazlear and spent a long while feasting on his flesh. Sated with demon meat and power, Gerard closed his eyes and rested. Soon after, the solution to his problem came to him. A simple idea, so simple it made the Warlord laugh out manically. Getting into the palace of Xwarda, he decided, would be as easy as killing a child.

When Durge pulled the fancy jewel-hilted sword from its place atop a pyramid of skulls, something happened. Outside the window, the blue haze of light went away, replaced by the golden light of the unfiltered sun. Talon’s shrieking alarm pulsed through Hyden’s mind like a whip crack. The magical dome had disappeared, the hawkling conveyed, and a light wind from the plains was sweeping away the ashy foliage. Because Hyden had lingered behind the others long enough to grab the Tokamac Verge, he was the last one in the room. Durge was examining what looked like a glorified ice pick in his huge hands. Before the giant, a knee-high pyramid of strange humanoid skulls had been piled. The elf, Jicks, and the great wolves were spread about the room with tense, but easing, expressions on their faces.

“Be careful, friend,” Hyden warned. “It might be a weapon of demon construct.”

“It’s of no use to me,” Durge said, handing the weapon hilt out toward Jicks. “I only called out because it looked important.”

The young swordsman's hesitation gave Hyden the chance he needed to snatch the long sword from the giant.

Jicks looked as relieved as he did disappointed when Hyden took it. He’d heard many a tale of a magical sword turning a man mad, or worse, so he didn’t say anything.

Hyden gripped the hilt, closed his eyes, and felt for the nature of the blade. Finding what he was after was easy. The large sapphire set in the pommel was still dissipating the energy of its prolonged use, like a coal slowly cooling after a fire is put out. When he opened his eyes, Hyden examined the skulls that made up the weapon’s reliquary. He was curious as to why they hadn’t been scorched away like everything else. He found he was glad that this portion of the castle was all made of stone. Had these rooms been like some of the others, with beam and plank floors, everything that didn’t burn up would have fallen to a pile somewhere below. For a long moment he thought about why the skulls were still intact.