The Sorcerer's Scourge (22 page)

“You traitorous bastard!” Jarvin screamed in rage and advanced on the priest with his blade held high.

The bishop stepped away as several men charged the dais, leaping between the cleric and the furious King. The assassins attacked without preamble and it was all Jarvin could do to keep their slicing and thrusting blades from his body. Adrenalin sped the King’s desperate parries, but not for much longer. He was an accomplished swordsman, but there was little he could do against four skilled fighters.

One thrust broke through his defenses and opened a long gash across his left side. Another sliced deeply into the shoulder on the same side. Movement from across the hall caught his eye and he saw several more men enter the throne room, some of them his own Blackguard. Given their lack of haste, Jarvin surmised they were not here to save him.

A third thrust defeated his defenses and pierced deeply into the bicep of his sword arm. Jarvin watched the blade slip from his grasp and fall glacially slow towards the marble floor. He saw in that falling blade the symbolic example of his reign, plummeting in a slow decline like his own inevitable fall. He looked into the eyes of the man that was already delivering the killing stroke.

The world instantly broke free of the miasma that held time in thrall and raced ahead with wild abandon. A slender blade interposed itself between the death-dealing strike and Jarvin’s heart then lashed out and took the lives of the other sword-wielders with a speed that belied belief.

“Your Majesty, we must flee!” Landrin shouted as he grabbed the king by the shoulder and pulled him back.

“Lord Bailey?” Jarvin asked in wonder as he looked upon the young bard.

“Vile creature of the abyss!” Bishop Caalendor shouted in righteous fury. “I know what you are, dark fiend, and I shall not rest until you and all those who consort with you are destroyed! I curse you and all that is unholy in the eyes of Solarian back to the pits of hell from which you were spawned!”

Landrin shielded his eyes and hissed in pain as the priest’s holy symbol flared to life with all the power and conviction the man contained. The Blackguard and other soldiers of the coup charged forward as Landrin grabbed the King and fled down the passage from whence he had appeared. The loyal soldiers that had been desperately trying to keep pace with the hastening vampire now fell into step with their King.

“We must hurry to the King’s chamber!” Landrin ordered. “I have a way to safety there!”

The guards split into a lead and trailing element as they rushed down the body-littered halls towards the King’s apartments. Most of the dead belonged to men and women loyal to the King, from guards to servants. Several times, they ran into a group of usurpers and had to fight their way through. Although they lost several loyal men, they were always able to push through, largely because of Landrin’s magical ability and his unflagging speed and power.

Every passageway they left behind rang with the shouts and curses of men as they called out the fleeing King’s location and gave pursuit. Their pursuers were certain they would run the King to ground along with those foolish enough to aid him. They had all castle exits sealed, including those that were kept a strict secret and known only by the King, his closest advisors, and the captain of the Blackguard.

Landrin practically shoved the King into the wardrobe and ordered every man with him to follow. Several of the guardsmen gave the lord curious looks, but none voiced an argument. The loyal men filed into the big closet and emerged in End’s Run a moment later, helped through and guided out of the way by Landrin’s enforcers to shake off the disorienting effects of the magical gate.

Landrin followed as the last man jumped into the closet and pulled the doors shut behind him. When he emerged on the far side, he turned towards the opening of his own wardrobe and cast a spell. At its completion, runes flared across the wardrobe still in Brelland and exploded, destroying the closet on that end and killing nearly a dozen traitors that had packed into the room in search of the fleeing King and loyal guards.

The King was bleeding profusely and was sitting on the floor nearby with his back up against the wall as Fetch tore clean strips of linen from a bed sheet and bound his wounds. Jarvin looked up with pain-filled eyes as Landrin approached.

“You are no man,” the King accused. “What are you?”

“I am your friend, Your Majesty. Given your present circumstances, I pray you are not going to do something foolish like being particular. It was men that tried to murder you and your family. Consider that when choosing what you shall base your trust upon.”

Jarvin considered the young lord’s words and nodded. There would be time for more questions concerning his status and motivations. Right now, there were far greater things to worry about.

“I must get word to North Haven! Caalendor knows who you are and to where you likely whisked me away. Duchess Mellina is the only one I can trust and can get troops here before the bishop can.”

“I believe I can get a message to the Duchess in time, but why not take you to North Haven instead? Surely North Haven could withstand a siege far better than End’s Run.”

“North Haven has already been put to siege once recently, and I would not wish that upon them again. Even so, her walls are not yet completed and I would not jeopardize the populace needlessly. I have studied the maps of this region extensively. The southern pass is narrow, steep, and arduous. A smaller force can defend it against a much largely adversary by utilizing the landscape to their advantage. Supply lines will also be far more difficult to maintain for Caalendor’s troops if they come north while we can stockpile a great deal of meat here in End’s Run. Tactically speaking, End’s Run provides me with far more advantages than North Haven while risking fewer lives. Of course, that all assumes we can get word to North Haven and the Duchess is willing and able to lend her support.”

“Pen your letter, Majesty, and I shall get a raven to carry it,” Landrin promised his King.

“Landrin,” the king said as his host turned to fulfill his task. “My wife and children?”

“Are safe and are most assuredly eager to see you. Fetch can show you to your rooms. There should be writing supplies there as well.”

“Thank you, Lord Bailey. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

“Do not thank me yet, Majesty. We both have far more to face in the coming days.”

Landrin turned and left Fetch to care after the King while Donnigan got the nearly two score of guards that had come with him settled. He stepped out into the freezing night air and sent a tendril of magic out into the ether. It took only a few minutes before a raven answered his silent call.

“Forgive me, my feathered friend, but yours shall not be the only life given to this cause in the days to come,” Landrin told the black bird as he stopped its heart with another dark thread of magic.

He then used a spell similar to that which he created his undead mount and reanimated the bird. Although the raven fluttered its wings and fluffed its feathers, it was not truly alive. It now existed with a cruel façade of life just as Landrin did. Only the raven’s would be blessedly short.

Landrin then returned to the King and found him in the rooms he set aside for him and his family.

“Landrin,” the King addressed him as he entered the room, “my eldest son, Miles, is at The Academy. One of the few people that knew of his identity was Caalendor. I must get word to him. I fear his life is in great danger.”

“I can prepare another raven, but I would have to send it to someone I know at The Academy, and I have no idea if this person is loyal to you or not. I imagine that Caalendor already has his pieces in place, and if he is moving against your son, any message I send would arrive days too late.”

Jarvin’s face showed the weight of sorrow and it was apparent that the King had already considered this. “I must try. For my family’s sake, I must try.”

“As you wish, Highness. I shall send your missive to the Duchess and then prepare another for your son.”

Landrin left the King to console his wife and comfort his two young children. After attaching the tiny missive to the raven’s leg, he released it outside with instructions to deliver the message to the Duchess in North Haven. His work completed for the time being, Landrin began feeling the fatigue of overly stressing his body and not feeding enough. It had been a hectic few days. He had barely returned home from speaking to the lupin when the wardrobe beckoned that the King was in danger.

He went back inside and descended a staircase hidden behind a false panel in the kitchen. The vampire followed the stairs down where they led to a series of cells. There were twelve cells in all, each with stout steel bars for doors, but only three were occupied. Grabbing a small but very sharp knife and a plain silver goblet from a small table at the foot of the stairs, Landrin approached one of the cells.

“Come for your dinner, blood sucker?” the prisoner asked.

“Have you changed your mind about commuting your sentence?” Landrin asked.

Each of the three men had earned the right to be hanged several times over. All were once part of the former bandit leader’s group and had decided to test the new laird’s willingness and ability to enforce the King’s law. Landrin gave them the choice of life in these cells as a source of sustenance for himself, or hang to death in the public square. There had been five of them, but two chose death and Landrin had obliged them.

The man stuck his arm through the bars without another word of complaint. Landrin quickly made a slash across the man’s inner forearm and caught the dark blood in the chalice. The cup quickly filled and he handed the man a clean cloth to help staunch the bleeding before practically draining it in one large pull. Landrin retired to his own room and thought of the battles that lay ahead.

CHAPTER
9

Miranda found Azerick in the large laboratory built beneath the new tower, just as he was usually to be found these days. He had been busy attaching and enspelling pieces of steel made by Ken, the blacksmith, to something vaguely resembling a huge iron man. The construct was nearly ten feet tall and almost half as wide at the shoulders. One arm ended not in a hand, but a massive sword with a blade four feet long and wider than a man’s hand.

“Azerick!” Miranda shouted above the din of his hammering. “Azerick!”

Azerick stopped his banging and climbed down from the ladder he was using to fit the shoulder guard into place. He quickly noted the seriousness on his wife’s face as he stepped towards her.

“What is it? Is there something wrong? Is Ellyssa in trouble again?”

Miranda smiled at the mention of the precocious girl. She reminded her so much of herself at that age, only more destructive.

“Mother just received a missive from the King. Bishop Caalendor has turned traitor and usurped the throne. Jarvin and his family have fled Brelland,” Miranda explained fretfully.

“Hm, I thought that had all been sorted out with Ulric’s death.” Azerick shrugged and retrieved his hammer. “At least it does not have anything to do with me.”

Miranda snatched the hammer from his hand with surprisingly quick reflexes. “It most certainly does! He has asked North Haven to send aid at once to End’s Run. He is certain that the Bishop is sending soldiers to kill him.”

“I still fail to see how that involves me.”

Miranda tried and failed to determine if Azerick was being intentionally difficult or if he truly did not understand. “My mother is the Duchess of North Haven. I am her daughter and you are my husband. That makes you the future Duke of North Haven and a loyal vassal to the King.”

“Hm. Well, if the future king is ever in trouble and the future me is not terribly busy and gives a goblin’s odiferous butt about his problems, then perhaps in the future I will see what I can do.” Azerick held out his hand. “Hammer please.”

Miranda drew the hammer back as if to strike him with it. “You incredibly obstinate and frustrating man! Do you not recall the oaths you made just weeks ago?”