Sinners of Magic (42 page)

‘
You can’t
kill me with one swish of a blade,’ he barked, goading Bridgemear
with his own sword. ‘I cannot die so easily and you cannot save
your daughter by trying. You are all doomed. As I speak my army is
getting ready to fight. You and your kind are going to know what
it’s like to be ruled by the most powerful being in the whole
universe.’

Bridgemear roared with fury and
went for him, punching Forusian just above the jaw. The sound of
his cheekbone disintegrating against his fist filled him with
much-needed adrenalin and he grinned with pure delight when he saw
the look of agony sweep over the king’s face.

‘
Ha-ha,’ he
crowed, ‘you may not die so quickly but you still feel the pain of
your wounds just like the rest of us.’

Forusian’s eyes blazed; he had
no time for this, he had serious work to do. He took a step
forward, the cheek along with his spine already starting to heal.
He waved the sword in the air and took a strike, but Bridgemear was
far too quick and bolted out of the way.

Abbadon was furious with the
unexpected interruption and barked orders for the demon creatures
to continue with the ritual whilst Forusian dealt with the wizard.
But Amadeus had waited long enough and rushed into view, throwing
his body into the centre of the ring of demons, flaying his sword
as he cut the apparitions with his blade.

‘
It’s no
use,’ he shouted to Amella, when his sword did nothing to disperse
the phantoms, ‘I cannot kill what is not alive.’

‘
We need to
stop the power of the amulet,’ screamed Amella in answer. She felt
herself teetering at the very edge of hysteria again and she tried
hard to pull back from its darkening grip. She ran towards the pit,
but she caught Death’s attention and with a whoosh he was there at
her side.

‘
She will
never be yours,’ he sneered, dropping down and scooping her up by
the throat.

Amella felt herself rising from
the floor and she grappled with the long, bony fingers which
threatened to choke the life out of her, but he was too strong and
she felt her eyelids turn heavy and then everything went black.

Bridgemear caught sight of what
was happening to Amella out of the corner of his eye and he spun
around to see Abbadon let go of her and let her fall. Forusian
seized his moment and brought the sword down hard, slicing the
flesh of Bridgemear’s arm. The magician gasped from the bone-deep
gash, the bright red bloodstain visible against his clothing. He
jumped back and Forusian followed him, wielding the weapon to and
fro above his head like a madman.

‘
It’s time to
die!’ the evil king cried, brandishing his sword in the air, but
Bridgemear was far more skilled and manoeuvred him nearer to the
pit. He saw the abominations of evil standing in silent rows,
lifeless and unmoving; the incantation was not yet finished and the
breath of life that they needed to exist had not yet been injected
into their slippery bodies.

‘
We must stop
the ritual!’ he cried out, watching Amadeus still slicing at the
demons.

‘
But how?’
shouted Amadeus, turning to face him in desperation.

‘
It’s the
necklace!’ Bridgemear shouted. ‘We must somehow stop the
amulet!’

Amadeus looked at Crystal’s
sizzling body and realised what he had to do. As light as the wind,
he left the circle of demons and ran towards the chasm. For a
moment it seemed everyone stopped to stare as he rushed past,
dropping his sword within easy reach of Bridgemear. Death barked a
warning when he realised what he was about to do, but Amadeus was
already one step ahead of him. With his eyes focused on Crystal, he
leapt from the centre of the pinnacle, his arms flaying widely as
he jumped into the air; his aim was nothing more than perfect. He
landed with a ‘thud’ on Crystal’s body and he immediately grasped
at her shoulders to stop himself from falling into the pit. Then,
with one arm wrapped around her waist he used his other hand to
cover the powerful stone. The heat from it seared through his skin
and he cried out with the pain, but he refused to let go until it
died away. Frantically, he searched at the back of her neck for the
clasp and when he found it, he unfastened the amulet from her
throat. Death was furious when he saw what was happening and flew
to attack, but he knew he was already too late. The second the
stone died, the spirits spun into dust.

‘
You cannot
harm me now, evil one,’ Amadeus said with a smirk, ‘you have
failed. Be gone, and take your evil doings with you.’

For the first time in a century
Abbadon didn’t know what to do; without the necklace and the girl’s
immense life force they could not continue to bring the soldiers to
life. He looked over at Forusian and cried for him to do something,
but Forusian was still preoccupied.

Bridgemear’s pale skin
glistened with sweat when he bent down to retrieve Amadeus’s sword.
Forusian’s eyes were gleaming with fury having realised his dream
was in serious peril and he lunged for the magician with madness
dancing in his eyes.

Bridgemear swung his sword and
the noise of clashing metal filled the air. They both turned full
circle but Bridgemear was the better swordsman and before he knew
what was happening he had Forusian pinned up against the wall.

‘
It’s over,’
Bridgemear said, pointing his sword at Forusian’s heart. ‘Surrender
now before more blood is shed.’

‘
I still have
your daughter,’ Forusian hissed. ‘She is not out of the woods
yet.’

‘
You can do
her no more harm,’ said Bridgemear, shaking his head. ‘Your days of
being king are well and truly over.’

As he spoke, the torches
suddenly seemed to burn a little too bright and a strong gust of
wind blew at the flames, causing them to flare, momentarily
distracting the wizard. It was all it took for Forusian to slice
his own sword deep across Bridgemear’s belly. The magician looked
shocked and then fell to his knees, unable to believe Forusian had
been able to wound him so. Not used to feeling such pain, his sword
slipped from his grasp and Forusian kicked it away with the heel of
his boot whilst Bridgemear tried to stem the flow of blood. He soon
realised his inner strength was not enough to save him and he tried
to pull at the wound with his bare hands.

‘
Wish you
hadn’t done that,’ Bridgemear said, swallowing hard and cursing the
lack of magic in his fingertips.

Forusian smiled down at
him.

‘
I warned you
not to interfere, but you would insist upon it,’ he said, swinging
the sword above his head. The metal glistened as it wavered in the
air and Bridgemear closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow. He
realised he was a failure and at that moment the dismay he felt
abolished all fear. The blade sliced the air and he braced himself,
but the swish of the blade never reached him. A piercing howl
bellowed from Forusian’s mouth instead and like a dragon caught by
the dragon slayer his eyes opened as wide as saucers and his sword
slipped from his fingers, landing with a sharp clatter upon the
stone floor.

Bridgemear stared dumbstruck
when Forusian fell to the ground, twitching and writhing before
him. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening and Forusian reached
out towards him as though he thought he could save him. Recoiling,
Bridgemear watched in shocked surprise when tendrils of smoke
smouldered all over Forusian’s body, before igniting and turning
him into a human torch. Orange and gold flames licked viciously at
his flesh and the repugnant smell of cooked tissue caused
Bridgemear to almost throw up when it filled his nostrils.

‘
No! This
can’t be happening!’ screamed Forusian, when his flesh melted away
to reveal bone. ‘My handsome face, my beautiful skin, it’s not my
time to die!’ The flames consumed him in his entirety and within
minutes he was unrecognisable.

‘
Help me,’ he
gurgled, when his blackened lips crumbled and turned into dust,
‘for you have not seen the last of …’

He fell upon the floor, like a
tree felled in the forest, his eyes lifeless. His limbs
disintegrated when they made contact with the floor and he fell
apart in large chunks; his fingers, already stiff, curled inwards,
looking like broken stumps. He lay dead, there at Bridgemear’s
feet, and what was left of his remains hardened into a charcoal
effigy. Bridgemear stared wide-eyed at the cremated torso of King
Forusian, unable to digest what had just happened, his own pain
momentarily forgotten.

In a flash Abbadon was by his
side, salvaging what he could. He hadn’t expected things to turn
out quite this way and wasted no time in devouring the fine, green
mist which appeared above the dead king. Bridgemear felt another
wave of nausea hit what was left of his stomach.

‘
Be off with
you, you sick creature of darkness!’ he gasped, furious that Death
should take such advantage. ‘Go back to the dark one and tell him
you have lost your fight this night.’

Abbadon howled in retaliation,
but retreated when he saw the anger flare in the magician’s eyes.
He was furious at being unable to reap Crystal’s soul for that had
been the bargain between his master and Forusian, but there would
be other times and other chances, and this thought gave him
comfort. She would be his one day, of that he was sure. With a
shriek that left the blood running cold, Abbadon made his way out
of the tower, taking with him the dark clouds and suffocating
air.

Clutching his belly, Bridgemear
tried to stand but found it impossible; then a gloved hand came
towards his face. There were no longer dark shadows to hide the
mysterious person who had saved his life and Bridgemear looked
directly into the red eyes of Tremlon. His pale skin looked just as
white as he remembered but his grip was far stronger. Tremlon
pulled the magician to his feet and Bridgemear glanced over to see
the shape-changer was still holding the blade that dripped with
Forusian’s blood. He recognised the blade immediately for it was
the magnificent Sword of Truth.

‘
You saved my
life,’ said Bridgemear, when Tremlon let him go.

‘
I owed you,’
said Tremlon, tight-lipped. ‘All these years I have lived with the
knowledge that I was the one who betrayed your love for Amella, and
because of what I did she was cast out and her child taken away.
Now it is time to make amends; King Gamada is dead and Amella must
return home to us and reign as queen.’

Bridgemear fell silent, unable
to digest the shape-changer’s words. In the distance someone was
yelling, but his mind was still reeling from the revelation that
King Gamada was dead.

‘
There they
are!’ shouted a number of familiar voices.

Bridgemear managed to snap his
attention towards those whom he had openly condemned.

‘
Help me!’
called Amadeus, when he recognised the face of Elveria. ‘We must
get Crystal down from here, for she will die if we do not
hurry.’

Bridgemear stared open-mouthed
when Elveria, Voleton and Amafar took control and, with their own
spells cast, brought Crystal back to safety. With Forusian dead
their powers were once again united and he felt his muscles ache as
his body responded to the power of self-healing. His flesh tingled
when the gaping wounds closed and his sliced intestines stung like
a belly full of wasps until they placed themselves back inside his
abdomen. He winced and gritted his teeth so as not to cry out until
the pain eventually subsided.

‘
There is one
more thing I must do,’ Tremlon said, fixing his gaze upon the rows
of hideous creatures who stood waiting for the breath of life that
would never come. His boots sounded dull upon the ground as he
turned and faced the goblins. He swung the magical sword above his
head and as he reached the first victim he placed his opening
strike against its neck. The body fell to the ground with its head
completely severed. Tremlon didn’t wait; instead, he swung the
sword again and the glistening of the metal shone each time it made
contact, slicing the head off each and every grotesque figure.
Although his arms ached, he didn’t stop until he had slaughtered
every last one.

Amella stirred, then sat bolt
upright. She blinked, realising the scene was not as she
remembered. She had been dragged away from the pit and she sensed
the presence of another close to her.

‘
It’s all
over,’ said Bridgemear softly in her ear. He watched her turn to
him and saw the look of bewilderment fill her eyes and he put his
arms around her, giving her a strong embrace.

‘
Take a
moment to rest,’ he said, stroking her wild hair. ‘Everything’s
going to be fine, because against the odds we somehow saved our
daughter.’

E
pilogue

Seven days had passed with
Crystal resting in her chamber in the Kingdom of Nine Winters.
Amella stepped from behind a marble pillar and watched her daughter
sip from a chalice filled to the brim with a potion made from her
own special recipe. A hearty fire crackled in the corner and the
sweet aroma of fresh herbs filled the air.

‘
I have
someone to see you if you’re up to it?’ she said, folding her arms
against her chest. Crystal smiled and her face lit up.

‘
Who is it?’
she asked, smoothing the crumpled sheets, unable to hide her
excitement.

Amella clapped her hands and a
servant opened the bedroom door.

‘
Matt!’
Crystal cried with pleasure. ‘My God, is it really you?’