Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) (36 page)

For a long moment the tower was still.  Gant stood over Varg’s motionless hulk, fists clenched, breathing in convulsive bursts.

Pandemonium broke loose.  Every evil creature in and around the tower broke and ran.  Those trying to come through the portal retreated into the vast reaches of the dark realms.  Those already in Pogor ran or flew for the countryside.  Some changed shape to resemble men.  The massed flocks of flyers streaked away across the plains.

Gant bent and picked up Valorius.  Slowly he turned the sword over and examined the now scarred blade.  The magic was gone, his battle madness gone with it.  In its place pain and tingling cold washed through his body.  Gant sat down, fatigue overcoming him.

He barely noticed the gathering light in the tower.  Pinpoints of radiance circled in a swirling pattern that congealed into a glowing sphere of cold, white fire. Inside the globe, a woman appeared dressed in white, so pure, so perfect, so flawless. Gant covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

She stepped from the brilliant sphere, tears streaming from eyes so blue that for Gant the blue of the sky would forever remain dull and lifeless. Gant watched in awe. She knelt beside Zandinar. Gently she gathered the fallen warrior in her arms, weeping openly, staring at his face, in death now serene and childlike.  Her tears pitter-pattered like silvery, soft rain drops on his chest.

She looked up at Gant.  “He died for you,” she said, her voice the song of angels, “for all of you that love and kindness might survive.  He is my son.  He lived for this one purpose.  It is done.”

A sad smile flickered across her lips, unforgettable and mystic. She stepped back into the sphere of light carrying her burden.  Her image faded.  The globe broke into sparkling motes of light that dissipated in the night air.

Gant’s mind reeled.  He looked at Valorius, her edge as keen as ever, the tingling magic running up his fingertips.  How? It didn’t matter.  They had stopped Varg.

Gant fought his way up to his knees, and finally managed to stand.  He returned Valorius to her scabbard, swayed and barely managed to keep his balance.  Slowly he surveyed the room.  Pris stood mouth agape, his back to the now empty portal.  Abadis and Valdor gathered beside Pris focused on the black sphere.

Uric swooped in through the opening in the wall, resuming man form as he did so.  The sage glanced around, and then approached the mages.  “Gant,” he said over his shoulder, “guard the stairwell.  Pris, take the opening in the wall.  Don’t let anything past.  The spell casting will take some time and we cannot be disturbed.”

Without question they went to their posts. There were no intruders.  Varg’s minions had scattered, disorganized and without leadership, each ran for its own survival.

Gant stepped over to the top of the stairs.  Far below he heard the hasty clatter of mailed footsteps receding down the spiral staircase.  He peered over the edge and caught a glimpse of a purple shadow moving downward.  The figure glanced up once and Gant recognized Wendler but then his magical armor melded with the darkness and he was gone.  Gant thought of going after him but his duty was to keep anyone from coming up the stairs and so he held his post.

In the tower, the spell casting proceeded smoothly, though it took a long time.  Before they could start Abadis and Valdor rested, meditated and regained strength.  Once they had refreshed mentally, they joined Uric and concentrated on the spell that they’d agreed had the best chance of closing the gate.  Casting took time but finally the gate was gone, vanished like a bad dream.  Uric transformed back into a dragon, lifted the others onto his back and they flew for Chamber Pass as fast as the Dragon King’s wings could take them.

Chapter 47

A
s they flew across the barren landscape, Gant’s thoughts turned inward.  Death was all around and yet he felt no remorse.  Was that bad?  Was he so callous that he didn’t mind killing?  No, he still hated killing.  He’d killed to save life.  And what about Zandinar and the lady in white?  Where had they gone?

“The lady in white, who is she?” he asked Uric.

Uric craned his neck to look back at Gant.  “No one is sure.  Few ever see her.”  He paused, licked his lips with his great forked tongue.  “I’ve never seen her before myself so I can only guess.  Legends say she appeared at Bartholomew’s birth.

“As to what she is, some say she’s a goddess.  The oldest legends say she is an angel of the Greater God.  Other legends say she is one of the five who escaped Tirumfall to the holy realms though there is no proof that any ever escaped that tower.  The truth remains a mystery.”

“Why did she take Zandinar and what did she mean ‘he died for us?’”

“I think now I see,” muttered Uric to himself, and then added, “I’ve heard she can see the future, or maybe she sees possible futures.  Probably, like Bartholomew, she saw Varg’s return and your rise as a warrior.  She knew Bartholomew made your armor and Valorius and that you would use them to kill Varg.  But she must have seen what Bartholomew did not, that you alone would not be enough. Maybe she didn’t see Pris, or she knew he would not be enough either. Even Thantalmos dulled on Varg’s hide.

“She called Zandinar son.  How she came by a son, I can only guess.  If she returned to this plane from the holy places it was indeed a sacrifice.”  Uric paused, and then finally added, “That’s the best I can offer.  The secrets may lie locked in Tirumfall tower.  And that is a place better left sealed.”

Gant sat in silence.  He didn’t really understand.  He thought of Dalphnia instead.  He longed to hold her again.  Soon, he told himself.

“What about the swords?” asked Pris.  “Varg sucked the magic from them but when she came they were restored.”

“That sphere,” said Uric and flew on as if that answered the question.

Silently, they passed over the land.  Each passenger clung to Uric’s broad back, exhausted.  The sun was halfway to its zenith when the worn-out band reached Chamber Pass.  Towering slabs of rock pushed skyward into broken walls hundreds of feet high.

Uric sailed over the troops clustered near the pass’ western entrance and landed far behind the rear guard on a loose gravel path trampled into a roadbed by countless feet, hooves and wheels. On either side of the road only an occasional scrub bush managed to cling to life.  Otherwise Chamber Pass was lifeless. The dragon regained man form and the party walked slowly up the winding trail toward the encampment until they were hailed by a brace of guards.

It only took a moment for the group to be recognized and escorted to Lord Barkmar’s tent.

“Dragon King,” said the Dark Elf Lord as they were ushered into his tent.  “You have succeeded?”

“Yes, the gate is closed.  Varg is dead.”

Lord Barkmar sighed with relief.

“Have any of my family returned?” asked Uric.

“No, we’ve had no word from the dragons.”

Uric’s face darkened.  Lord Barkmar went on, fighting a tired grin.   “Fighting has been light. Jarlz and his knights forayed onto the plain and so far have managed to stem the tide.  Because of them, only a half dozen of the black slayers tried to breech the pass and Dalphnia’s trees took care of them.  Amelia saw some of the flying beasts but none have ventured this far east.  She also reports that the destruction of the west seems complete.  Everywhere she’s gone the villages are burned, the fields ruined, bodies rotting in the open. There’s nothing left but evil and death.”

“Where is she now?” asked Abadis, his face reflecting his worry.

“Scouting,” answered Barkmar. “She said to tell you she’d see you at your house in a few days. She said to watch the mirror.  Whatever that means.”

Abadis nodded. 

Pris cleared his throat.  “Can we return to Malathon?  I want my throne back.”

“Not today,” said Abadis.  “I’m worn out and casting transport spells in my condition would be a disaster.”

Gant noted the wizard, both of them actually, looked thinner, frailer than he’d ever seen them.  It was as if they had aged decades in the last few hours.

“You don’t look so good,” said Dalphnia approaching from behind them.  She was flanked by Captain Hesh, Kalmine, Pratt, and Faltern.  “Are you all right?”

Abadis sighed.  “The strain from our work in the tower has taken its toll.  I need to rest and restore myself before anymore spell casting.”

“That goes for me too,” said Valdor. “But I’d rather do it at home.  So if I’m not needed any longer I’ll be on my way.” Without waiting, he completed a spell and was gone.

“How long will that take?” asked Pris.

“I’ll be fine tomorrow,” said Abadis.  “There are magical spells that can restore vitality.  But they take complete quiet.”

Shouts from outside halted the discussion.

“Dragons are coming!  Dragons are coming!”

Immediately Uric was out of the tent, followed by several others.  They spotted three winged shapes rapidly approaching from the north. As they watched, the forms swelled and became Uric’s wife Mall, son Pith and his female companion, Valmie.  The three of them landed in a clearing behind the main camp.  The first thing Gant noticed was the great sadness in Mall’s eyes.

“Where's Hamiz?” asked Uric, fighting to control his voice.

“Dead, Father,” answered Pith.  “Baz killed him.”  The large silver dragon’s head dropped.  “We held them as long as we could.”

A huge tear slid down Uric’s cheek.  It fell softly onto the rocky soil.  Where the tear ran it turned to pure gold forming a seam that ran deep into the earth.

Finally Uric said, “You held long enough. Varg is dead. Did the others go with Baz?”

“Not all of them,” said Mall, “Vee stayed.  She talked many of the elders out of this foolishness.  Most of the young ones, the brash and reckless, they followed Baz, seeking their own gain.”

“We should follow them, wipe them out,” snapped Pith, his anger burning fiercely.

Gant fought his own grief.  More innocents had died. Rage flamed in him anew. “I’ll go with you,” snapped Gant, Valorius leaping to his hand. A tear slid down his cheek.

“No,” said Mall, even as Uric started to agree.  “Vee needs us to back her, especially her king, before any more get ideas of riches easy for the taking.”

“Of course you are right,” said Uric sadly, “Baz and his band will find the world a cruel place.  It’ll be a long time before they venture against men of power and it is my duty to see that no others join them.  Let us return home, first to secure it and then to bury Hamiz properly.”

Uric turned to his son.  “Would you and Valmie fly the mountain ridge for a few days?  Make sure none of Varg’s flyers cross to this side?”

“I’d be honored,” said Pith.

“Me too,” added Val with a dip of her silver-scaled head.

“Goodbye for now,” said Uric.  “Perhaps we’ll meet again, perhaps not.”

“Dragon King,” said Lord Barkmar.  “We mourn your loss.  Your son’s life was not wasted. We shall keep the funeral fire lit tonight.  Our prayers go with you.”

“Thanks,” said Uric.  He regained his dragon form and the flight of four lifted with a blast of air, stones and sand.  In an instant, they were gone over the towering mountain peaks.

Abadis looked at Lord Barkmar.  “Is there anything we can do?”

“Yes, get some rest.  I’ll have an aide take you to tents where you can sleep undisturbed,” and the Elf Lord signaled for a guide.

Gant and Dalphnia took one tent, Abadis, Pris and his men another and after a light meal they were all soon fast asleep.

Chapter 48

I
t was still dark when Gant woke up. Dalphnia stood near the open tent flap looking out.  “Did you sleep well?” she asked without turning.

Gant sighed and blinked. “Okay I guess.  I was tired.  Right now I’m hungry.”

“Looks like the meal tent is serving breakfast.  Let’s go see what they’ve got.”

Gant washed up, put his clothes and armor back on and went hand-in-hand with Dalphnia to the cooks’ tent.  On the way, she asked, “Do you think things will ever get back to normal?”

“Normal for who?  You or the rest of us?”

She elbowed him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t think things will go back the way they were.  Varg’s dead and the gate closed but there are uncounted evil creatures loose on the other side of the mountains.  Things that are hard to kill.  It’s unlikely we’ll be able to clear them out.  Best that I can see is that we have an uneasy peace on this side of the mountains.  As for you, well you are stuck with me and I’m not going to be like any other husband you’ve ever had.”

She squeezed his hand.  “I’m counting on that.”

They entered a large tent and found cooks serving porridge, roast meat, milk, water, and boiled potatoes.  They got in the back of the serving line, filled plates, though Dalphnia did not take any meat, and found an empty table.  Before they were finished, Abadis, Pris and his men came in, got food and joined them.  Gant was glad to see that Abadis looked rested, younger even.

“Are you ready to go to Malathon?” asked Abadis between bites.  “I’m ready to get back there myself.  I owe Sylvia a visit.”

“Not so fast,” said Lord Barkmar who now stood at the end of their table.  “There are a few things to discuss before you go.”

“Like what?” asked Pris.  “I want to go home.”

“About security at the pass,” said Lord Barkmar turning to Dalphnia.  “Will the trees stay?”

“Yes, they are quite happy.  Their enchantment will last for many months as long as they remain rooted.  By then, maybe I’ll stop by and wake them up again.”

“Thank you, Lady of the Wood,” said the Forest Lord, bowing low. “And Gant, your uncle returned while you were asleep and asked to see you before you leave.  He’s in the Netherdorf bivouac area.  I promised him you’d visit.”

“I’ll go now.  It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“I'll go with you,” said Abadis. “Anything else we should know?”

“That’s it,” said Barkmar and left the tent.

“Let’s meet at my tent in half an hour,” suggested Gant. 

Since there were no objections, Gant and Abadis rose and walked to the area marked by the Knights of Netherdorf’s banner.  It was a string of small tents clustered around a horse corral.  It took only a minute to locate Sir Jarlz who stood near a larger tent where the commander’s guidon flapped.

“Uncle Jarlz,” yelled Gant, running up to the knight.  He threw both arms around his uncle and hugged him. Letting go he stepped back.  “We’re leaving and I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Me too, old friend,” said Abadis only a step behind Gant.

“Well, I won’t be here much longer myself,” said Jarlz, a broad grin sweeping across his bearded face.  “The king will soon regain Netherdorf.  Already the people are rising to his banner.  We cleared the plain at the mouth of the pass and Lord Barkmar gave us leave to join King Tirmus.  We are going to bring a quick end to the fighting.  I heard the city council in Blasseldune sent their militia to help.” 

“Then you’ll see Chamz,” said Gant.  “He’s leading them.  Tell him I’m all right and I’ll see him soon.”

“Sure. And when you get to Netherdorf, you better visit Mistress Fallsworth and me.  I plan to be seeing her a lot.  In fact, plan on attending the feast the king will have to celebrate victory.”

“Wonderful,” Gant clapped his uncle on the shoulder.  “So much has happened since Blasseldune.  Do me a favor and check on Gwen when you can?”

“I will. I’m sure she’s all right.  She has a way of taking care of herself.”

“Enough,” shot Abadis.  “Let’s be off.”

“See you in Netherdorf,” said Jarlz as the two turned to leave.

A few minutes later, at Gant’s tent, the pair rejoined the anxious group. They linked hands in a circle and Abadis started his verse. As the last words died away, they flashed through space to appear in the same second floor bedroom at Sylvia’s that they’d entered before.  A young woman jumped at their appearance, dropping the armload of sheets she carried. 

“Sorry to disturb you,” said Abadis and led the group down the stairs to the parlor.

Several women lounged on the chairs and couch in the parlor, which was empty of clients.

“Where's Sylvia?” Abadis asked a delectable blond girl at his elbow.

Just then Sylvia burst into the room from the kitchen.  “What’s all the noise?  Oh!”  She eyed Abadis suspiciously.  Then smiled a sly, knowing smile and winked at the wizard.  “Did you come in through our bedroom again?”

“Well, yes,” said Abadis sheepishly.

“You old goat.”  She ran up and threw her arms around him.  “Sometimes I wonder if keeping that space open for you to pop in whenever you feel like it is a good idea.”

“I can’t just appear on the street outside.  What would people say?”

Sylvia cocked her head and examined the wizard.  “Okay, it’s worked fine to this point so we’ll leave things just the way they are.  So, did you come to stay a while this time?”

“Yes, for a few days.  Then I think you should come to my house.”

“What?” gasped Sylvia.  “Who’ll run the house? Er, there’s so much to do here, I. . .”

“Don’t give me that,” smiled Abadis, “you’ve got lots of good help and a vacation would do you good.”

A couple of the girls still in the room chided her for trying to avoid a man.

“Okay, okay.  But just you and me.”

“My idea exactly.  Of course you’ll have to meet my granddaughter but she won’t be staying long.”

“I guess I can manage that,” and something in her eyes said she was looking forward to it.

They disentangled and turned to the others.

“I think you remember the emperor and his attendants, and Gant,” said Abadis, indicating each as he went, “but I don’t think you’ve met Dalphnia.  Dalphnia, this is Sylvia.”

Pleasantries were exchanged and then Abadis went on. “Pris, that is His Majesty, has returned to regain control of the throne. 
And
, I will be the new Imperial Wizard so I’ll be visiting Malathon regularly.”  He winked at Sylvia.

Sylvia’s smile extinguished.  “Regaining the throne may be harder than you think.  The High Minister has declared you dead and anyone posing as the emperor is to be killed as an imposter.”

“Chantel,” spat Pris.  “Who has he appointed as the new emperor?”

“No one,” said Sylvia, “but most believe he’d like to assume the title himself.”

“We’re going to change that right now.  Please accept my apology for refusing your continued hospitality but this has gone on long enough. I shall return when possible to thank you officially for your assistance.”  Pris turned toward the door.

Before Pris could leave, Abadis asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No,” answered Dalphnia before the emperor could respond.

“You stay here.  Gant and I will go with him.  I don’t think this will take long.”

“Let's go,” said Pris, and was out the door.

Gant and Dalphnia bowed to Sylvia and dashed to follow.  Kalmine, Captain Hesh, Patt and Faltern were right behind them.  Before they’d gone far, Pris motioned Kalmine to take the lead and the emperor fell in behind his advisor.

As they approached the outer palace wall they met two guards, one on each side of a heavy bronze door.  Gant noted that they approached the palace from the Royal side, opposite from the entrance he’d used to obtain an audience with Pris.  As the group approached, the two guards stiffened and pulled their short swords.

“Oh, put those away,” said Pris, advancing to within a few yards of the pair.  “You can plainly see I am the emperor.  Now stand aside and let me pass.”

The two guards wavered, glancing at each other.  The one on the right let his sword point dip.

The other said, “We are to kill anyone claiming to be the emperor.  On sight!  The High Minister has proclaimed the emperor dead.”

Both men pointed their swords at Pris but without conviction.

“Did you see the emperor's body?  Was there a funeral?” demanded Pris.

“No,” said the nearest guard.

“And you must recognize Captain Hesh, and Kalmine, my personal advisor.  Or have they been declared dead, too?”

“No, but. . .”

“Then let us pass.”

“W-we can’t do that,” stammered the second guard. “Chantel will have us tortured.”

“Then you can die here,” snapped the emperor, yanking Thantalmos from her scabbard.

Immediately the sword began to hum.  A low wailing echoed off the high walls.  Gant thanked the Lady in White that Thantalmos was as sharp as ever.

On sight of the screaming sword, both guards lowered their weapons, their mouths open.

“It is the lost Sword of Emperors,” said one.

“He must be the emperor.  No one else can hold that sword,” said the second.  “Forgive us, Majesty.”  They both knelt.  “We were only following orders.”

“Orders from a fool,” added Kalmine.

Pris sheathed Thantalmos. “You stay here,” he said, pointing to the guard on the left.  To the other he said, “You escort us to the Council Chambers.  I don’t want to have to repeat this needless confrontation with every guard I meet.”

Both guards bowed low.  The one ordered to lead pulled open the bronze door and hurried through.  The others followed.  The last one closed the door.  The group went through a high vaulted tunnel through a thick stone wall and came to a second bronze door.  The guard swung it open and held it for Pris who marched through.  Two royal guardsmen on the other side casually turned toward the door as it opened.  One sat beside a beautiful marble fountain drinking from a half empty wineskin.  The other leaned casually against the inner wall, his razor-edged halberd propped beside him.

“Don’t move,” ordered Pris, glaring at them.  “So this is the way you guard my palace.  Captain Hesh, take their names.  Have them reassigned to a frontier outpost.  Someplace where they’ll either remain alert or end up dead.”

Pris brushed past the two surprised sentries.  His quick strides took him swiftly past the fountains that adorned the broad expanse of the Royal Palace Gardens. The rest of the party hustled to keep up. Captain Hesh dropped behind to deal with the two lax soldiers.

On the far side of the gardens, they came to a small door made of expensive, polished wood bound in shiny brass.  A lone guard stood in the shadow of the overhang, half dozing in the coolness.  Pris was upon him before he could move.  The emperor shoved him aside with a sweep of his right arm, catching the startled sentry off balance and sending him sprawling. 

“Patt, take his post.  No one except Captain Hesh comes through until I personally give you the order.”

Patt dropped out of the procession and took up the post at the door, a menacing glare in his eye for the displaced guard.

Now they were inside the palace and Pris was running.  The others hastened to keep up.  Down one corridor after another, dashing past surprised servants and men carrying out routine duties.  They went up a flight of stone steps, around a bend and down a long narrow corridor blocked at the end by a heavy, red velvet tapestry.  Pris motioned to Faltern to take up a position in front of the tapestry.  “No one comes through,” he whispered.

The soldier nodded.

Pris shoved aside the thick cloth and the party entered the vast complex where Gant had first met the emperor.  There was a guard inside the tapestry dressed in a strange uniform.  He reached for his sword.  Gant was quicker.  Valorius leaped into his hand, and with a practiced chop using the flat of the blade, he knocked the guard’s sword from his hand.  It clattered noisily to the floor.  The conversation in the room died like a snuffed candle flame.

For a long moment, everything stopped.  Those in the chamber turned to see who dared make such a noisy interruption.  Gant scanned the room.  It was circular, as he remembered it, with numerous entrances, all guarded from the inside by serious-looking armored soldiers, in uniforms that Gant did not recognize.

“Mercenaries,” whispered Kalmine through clenched teeth.

An exquisitely dressed merchant had been pleading his case and now turned to stare at the newcomers, his mouth frozen in mid-sentence.  On the dais several old men dressed in pompous robes stood around the throne.  On it sat an older man dressed in white, a venomous glare aimed at Pris.

“Chantel,” shouted Pris, an accusatory tone in his voice. “Get off
my
throne.”

For a moment the room remained silent, even the air seemed reluctant to move.