Douglas Niles - Fate of Thorbardin

The Kayolin dwarf sensed the parapet’s nearness, and he once again slipped to the side. But he’d miscalculated, misjudging the whereabouts of one of the dead guards, the man he’d cut down on his first charge. His foot slipped in the man’s blood, and there was an audible gasp from the watching dwarves as Brandon fell heavily onto his back.

Darkstone wasted no time in capitalizing on the error, leaping forward and driving his sword down, its keen tip plunging toward Brandon’s chest. But the prone dwarf rolled away with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, and the metal tip of Darkstone’s sword clanged loudly off the flagstone platform.

His axe was badly out of position, but his feet weren’t. Brandon made a sweeping, sideways kick and knocked his foe’s legs out from under him. Darkstone went down with a thud as Brandon swiveled into a sitting position, holding his axe in both hands. He brought the weapon over his head while the Daergar tried to parry.

But the Daergar commander misjudged the moment, and the Bluestone Axe came sweeping down, biting through flesh and bone. Darkstone grunted, dropping the sword from a nerveless hand, a hand that dangled by less than half of a wrist.

Brandon pulled his weapon free and sprang to his feet. His opponent, moving more slowly, hissing from the pain of his deep wound, also managed to stand. But the Daergar no longer had a weapon.

“Surrender, and you will live,” Brandon declared, holding his axe at the ready.

Instead, Darkstone edged away until he was trapped at the edge of the parapet. There the Daergar leaped to the top of the rampart wall. He was fifty feet above the floor.

Then General Darkstone smiled, almost sadly, before offering Brandon a salute with his grisly, half-severed hand and toppling backward off the edge.

Gretchan awakened from another restless sleep. She was sore from lying on the bars of the cage; the grid was broken irregularly by crags of rock that jutted upward. She sat up and leaned her back against the side of her prison, trying to be very silent as she looked around.

Not much had changed since the last time she had taken stock of her surroundings. She couldn’t see any of the three wizards, though she didn’t know if that meant that they were elsewhere or merely within some of the chambers that existed in the porous hilltop upon which she rested. More than once she had seen one or more of her captors duck behind a rock or stoop beneath an overhanging slab, disappearing into unseen spaces.

The case of potions and the bag of spellbooks had been placed within her view. She wished that her staff were nearby as well, but she had noticed, with alarm, that the wizard seemed to be almost obsessed with the artifact of Reorx, and she suspected that it meant far more to him than merely the talisman of his powerful captive.

What did he want it for? Why did it fascinate him so much?

It had not been long since she had watched as Sadie had descended from the hilltop and vanished into an unseen opening on one side. An hour later, she had reappeared on the other side of the crest. While it was always possible that the crone had teleported herself from one place to the other, it seemed more likely to Gretchan that her sojourn indicated the existence of a network of connecting passages, with an unknown number of entrances, leading to an unfathomable complex of rooms, corridors, and compartments.

She knew that Sadie had placed the bell jar somewhere that wasn’t out there on the surface of the hilltop, for the priestess hadn’t seen that container and its precious blue spark since the elder apprentice had first arrived with it. It was odd to think of that aimlessly drifting spot of light as a living thing, but Gretchan had no doubt that Sadie had been speaking the truth when she talked about it being Peat, her husband. Not for the first time, she wondered what Sadie and Peat had done to provoke Willim’s wrath.

A soft footstep scuffed on the rocks behind her, and Gretchan twisted around to see Facet approaching. The younger apprentice was alone, climbing the rough surface of the hill with her black robe swirling around her. Her light eyes were fastened upon the priestess; her face was devoid of emotion.

“Hello,” Gretchan said as cheerfully as she could. “What’s going on out there today?”

Facet didn’t answer and as she continued her silent, purposeful approach, Gretchan felt a growing prickle of alarm.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Where are Willim and Sadie?”

It was odd to think that the wizard’s presence might make her feel safer, but the more she studied the young apprentice’s ice-cold expression, with her glacially pale face and frigid, darting eyes, the more worried she became.

“You would steal him from me, wouldn’t you?” Facet suddenly declared, her tone slicing like a blade.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Gretchan protested, though of course she did suspect Facet’s jealousy.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Facet declared. “You would supplant me-with your golden hair, your lush figure … your eyes! You would make him forget, abandon me!”

“I would not!” Gretchan argued. “He’s-”

She was about to say how much Willim disgusted her, how grotesque she found him to be. Yet she knew that was the wrong tactic to take in that particular argument. “I can see that he’s too much in love with you,” she found herself saying.

“He doesn’t love me!” Facet replied scornfully. “He doesn’t love anybody! But he needs me! He has to have me!”

“Yes, you’re right. Love … love is hard for him. But he does need you. You should never think that I could take your place!”

“No, you won’t. You will never take my place.”

Abruptly Facet raised her hand and pointed a finger at Gretchan. She spat the command of a powerful spell, and a bolt of lightning burst from her flesh, crackling and sizzling toward the cleric like a living, hungry thing.

The blast of electricity struck the bars of the cage, and Gretchan felt the blow in the pit of her stomach. She screamed and fell down, watching in horror as a cascade of sparks illuminated the metal grid, causing the bars to glow so brightly, she had to cover her eyes.

But when the sizzling stopped, the cleric sat up again, realizing that she was unharmed.

“How did you do that?” Facet demanded, taking a step closer.

How, indeed? Gretchan hadn’t done anything, though she didn’t think it was wise to admit that, not at the moment. Then a thought occurred to her.

The cage! Willim had told her that the bars themselves were enchanted by his power, infused with traps that would prevent her from escaping. Was it possible that the same sorcery would block the spells of an external attacker?

She didn’t get a chance to pursue that train of thought as more magic crackled in the air. Two more figures appeared, and Gretchan saw that Willim and Sadie had arrived.

The black wizard did not look pleased. He sniffed the air, no doubt detecting the lingering smell of ozone, and rounded on his young apprentice.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“She-she was trying to escape!” Facet declared, pointing at Gretchan. “I used magic to stop her!”

“That’s a lie!” the cleric protested. “She was trying to kill me!”

“You be quiet,” Willim commanded, and Gretchan could only obey. She feared his power too much to argue. At the same time, she was fascinated to see what he would do about his apprentice’s disobedience.

“Here, my master,” said Facet. “Let me soothe you. Have a drink of wine! I saved it for you!”

She produced a flask from within a pocket of her robe and stepped forward, tentatively offering it to the black wizard.