Richard Knaak - The Citadel

“I’ve no more love for him than you do,” Serene promptly returned. In truth, only loathing remained for the mage. He had betrayed everything she believed in. “He’s using Tyros to keep the citadel flying, but the longer Tyros is part of the spellwork, the more likely he’ll die!”

The kender thought about this. “We have to help him, then! I like Tyros. Taggi likes him, too, I think, and Taggi’s a good judge. He liked you, didn’t he?” Rapp rubbed his chin. “Maybe you can pray to Branchala to stop the storm; he’d be real good at that! When that happens, Valkyn will want to investigate, and I can find Tyros and release him! I’ll bet he’s down deep inside the castle! I remember which way he went originally, and I can-”

“Rapp, I can’t call on Branchala. Valkyn’s seen to that. He’s cast a powerful spell on me. I’m cut off from the Bard King.”

Instead of dismay, puzzlement dominated the kender’s expression. “But how can that be? Valkyn isn’t stronger than Branchala. Does he make you not believe in the Bard King?”

“No, I still believe in him.”

Rapp shook his head. “Then I don’t understand, Serene. Valkyn’s just a wizard. I mean, he’s a strong wizard, but just a wizard! Branchala’s a god, and you talk to him all the time! How can Valkyn’s spell stop you from doing that?”

“It’s not that simple,” the cleric snapped, recalling how Tyros had said much the same. Even though she had managed to keep herself conscious after her earlier attempts, Serene had made no further progress. The harsh headaches still plagued her. If she pushed herself too far, she felt certain that she would again collapse. “I can’t be of any help in that way, Rapp.”

She had never seen a kender look so disappointed. Rapp hid the emotion almost as quickly as he had displayed it, but the expression remained burned in Serene’s mind and heart.

“It’s all right, Serene,” he finally murmured. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get Tyros on my own!”

Disgust for her own uselessness filled her. “But you can’t do that. I’m going along with you. I can handle a staff, at least.”

Rapp crossed his arms, trying to look stern. The cleric had seen him assume such a stance when he had admonished the griffons for breaking into some farmer’s chicken coop. “I really better go alone, Serene. You humans are big and clumsy when it comes to sneaking around. You better wait here. I’ll find Tyros and rescue him. He’ll know what to do then!”

Before she could argue with him further, Rapp hurried toward the hallway door, eager to be off on his adventure. However, as he reached for the handle, he suddenly paused, his head cocking slightly to the side. Serene realized that the kender was listening.

Shaking his head, Rapp returned to her.

“What is it?”

“Your guards are back. I’ll have to go out the balcony. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“You can’t. You’ll be blown away.”

Despite her anxiety, Rapp raced to the balcony, taking cover only when he stepped outside. Serene went as far as the balcony doors, watching her small friend. Rapp slipped to the rail, then, after peering through it, started to climb over it.

“I’m going with you!” Serene stepped out just as a hard gust struck. She had to keep hold of a door to prevent herself from crashing into the rail.

Rapp hugged the rail tightly. He finished climbing over the moment the wind died down, pausing only to stare at Serene through the columns of the rail. “Go inside, Serene. I promise you that I’ll be safe. You just go talk to Branchala, all right?”

He dropped out of sight before she could reply. Rapp’s words stung her. Abandoning the windblown balcony, the cleric returned to the bed, trying to convince herself that the kender just didn’t understand. She well knew Valkyn’s power. His magic had brought Tyros to his knees. His magic had raised Atriun, and with that magic, the sinister flying castle had torn Norwych apart. What hope did she have of overcoming Valkyn’s spell?

“Listen to yourself!” she murmured. “Maybe Rapp’s right. You never let such thoughts bother you even during the worst of the war. Why now? You’ve fought terrible evil, and the Bard King has always been with you. Why would he abandon you now?”

Something stirred within Serene. She knew Valkyn too well, knew his power, knew his mind. She wouldn’t let Valkyn’s trickery and betrayal be her downfall. His love might have grown twisted, but for her, there would always be one whose love for her would remain pure and compassionate. Despite her doubts, he would be there for her. He had to be.

“Branchala,” the cleric began, her head already feeling light. “Bard King, forgive me for my lack of faith, my lack of love.…”

The room began to swim. Serene fought against it. She had not only Valkyn’s spell to defeat, but her own misgivings as well, which gave that spell more strength over her.

“Branchala, hear my song. Hear my call.” Her hands shaped themselves, as if holding a lyre or a Bard’s harp. Serene’s fingers began to move as if she played that instrument. No sound came, of course, but the movement soothed her, pushed back the vertigo.

Emboldened, the cleric opened her mouth to sing. The words were not in the Common tongue, nor even that of the elves, who had served Branchala longer than humankind. The words came from the Age of Dreams and had been passed down to the faithful from Branchala himself. They evoked the beauty of the forest, the caress of the wind, the gentle might of nature. The first time she had learned to properly sing those words, Serene had found herself filled with such bliss that she had known no other calling would ever suit her more. She had been certain that she would ever be a cleric to the woodland god.

Again a wave of vertigo nearly overwhelmed Serene. Her fingers faltered and she missed a word. Summoning her resolve, the cleric picked up the song again, letting the words come louder, more free. The rumble of the storm without helped mask her singing, but Serene knew that she risked discovery. Still, she didn’t care, at last feeling as if she had rediscovered herself.

On and on her fingers strummed, playing the silent notes in accompaniment to her voice. Serene sang, picturing the forest in which she had lived, the animals she had known, the people whose lives she had touched. The cleric imagined the faces of her present companions, Rapp, Bakal, and, most of all, Tyros. They needed her and the strength and love of her god. Serene looked to Branchala, asking him in song to give her the chance to fulfill that need and help them all put an end to Valkyn’s abomination.

And as her fingers continued to play the air, notes began to resound through the chamber.

Cadrio’s forces under Zander had moved swiftly toward their ultimate destination. The scouts had chosen well. The path was an open yet barely populated stretch that offered little in the way of resistance. Thus far they had overwhelmed a few tiny outposts with minimal effort. Soon they would reach their true prey, the defenders of Gwynned. Even now Zander could make out the rolling landscape that opened into the great city’s territory.

And in those rolling hills, the true battle would be fought.

Zander felt quite comfortable in the role of commander. Zander respected his general, but thought himself the better tactician. He had already deployed his forces for combat, knowing that each passing moment meant a more likely chance of coming across the first resistance.

It was possible that he had already inherited the mantle of command. Zander glanced behind him, where Eclipse, wings folded, still stared, unblinking, at the heavens. Zander had never seen a befuddled dragon before. In halting words, Eclipse had told him what had happened to Murk, a tale that had left even Zander unnerved. The ebony beast seemed at a complete loss without his twin, constantly rubbing his fore-paws together and missing half of what the younger officer told him.