The Compass Key (Book 5) (5 page)

The creature is about to spin around when its eyes spark and it awkwardly lurches to its left. Fizzle dips under its chomping mouth while his illusionary self passes harmlessly through its target. Before he is too far away, Fizzle whips the cryphax in the face with his tail. Yelping in pain, the monster falls a few feet before steadying itself. With a predatory hiss and a bleeding welt down the center of its face, the cryphax chases after Fizzle.

“You slow,” the drite calls back.

Fizzle is racing toward the castle when he is struck by a gusher of liquid that reeks of blood. He slams into the side of the tower and sticks to the side, his red-veined wings fluttering desperately. Before the cryphax can reach him, Fizzle unleashes a cloud of rainbow mist that hides him from view. His wings vibrate as he heats them enough to melt the glue-like substance holding him to the wall. A screech tears through the air moments before the cryphax slams face first into the wall next to Fizzle. The creature is still shaking its head in pain when Fizzle rockets into its side, sending it spinning over the castle.

Circling around the central tower, Fizzle races toward the distant swamp to return to his friends. He slows down and stops when he hears the cryphax following far behind. The drite turns around to see the creature flying toward him, its movements slowed by the large tear in one of its wings. Fizzle charges at the cryphax and flips to whip it in the head with his tail. Rapidly striking the creature with his tail, Fizzle eventually splits its head in two and sends it careening to the ground. It lands with a muffled thud, but it immediately stands on its wings and stares up at the hovering drite.

With a fury-filled screech, the cryphax bloats and grows to twice its original size. The halves of its head grow new halves, giving the creature an extra mouth of teeth. Its necks extend until they are six feet long and covered in dripping barbs. Blasting into the air, the cryphax heads for Fizzle, who swiftly retreats and dives toward the castle.

“It bigger. It faster. It meaner,” Fizzle says to himself as he tries to think of a way to kill the cryphax. “Slashing smashing no work.”

Fizzle soars around the lower wall of the castle, heading for the lowered drawbridge, when he sees the angry man waiting for him. With the aerial agility only a drite possesses, Fizzle evades his slashing sword and races through his legs. The man is about to turn around to give chase when the cryphax swoops around the corner. The creature is flying low enough that one of its wings takes the man’s wings out from beneath him. An angry scream echoes through the clearing as he falls into the half-filled moat with a dull splash.

“Fizzle have plan.”

The cryphax gains on Fizzle as they race toward the edge of the clearing and swerve back to the castle. Fizzle curls his tail when he feels the breath of the cryphax on his back and hears the chomping of its teeth. Looping toward the giltris side of the clearing, the drite surprises his pursuer with a burst of speed. The cryphax struggles to keep up, its necks straining forward while it hungrily snaps at the air.

Fizzle dives toward the giltris camp and aims for the guarded cage. Nervously holding his breath, he darts through the bars. He senses something big stir next to him before he is out the
other side of the cage and racing away. Fizzle hears a loud crash as the cryphax slams into the cage, knocking it over. A blood-curdling screech erupts from the creature as the caged beast grabs it by the leg and pulls it through the bars. The screech is abruptly cut off by a chilling snap and the tearing of flesh.

“Fizzle no like scout,” the drite announces as he disappears into the relative safety of the surrounding swamplands.

*****

Potions and herbs float around the Lich as he leans over his bubbling cauldron. The churning liquid is a sickly orange with swirls of gray. With a flick of his wrist, a flower with poison-dripping thorns drifts into the cauldron. A geyser of sparks hits the ceiling and leaves a fresh burn mark on the stone.

“If only I was a simple-minded fool like the gypsy boy and could indulge in tormenting the help,” Stephen whines as he barges into the room. He grins when he sees the potions and herbs come within inches of crashing to the floor. “Did I break your pathetic concentration, worm?”

“Bored with your new toy?” the Lich asks, his attention more on his cauldron.

“There are only so many things you can do to a woman when she’s unconscious before you lose interest,” the black-clothed man admits with an exaggerated yawn. “I must have been in there for days. All I accomplished is causing her naiad powers to run out of control. I doubt the other champions can be pushed to such destruction.”

The Lich mutters an angry spell and his components
remain locked in the air. “You set off her powers and left her in my basement? Go down there and fix her!”

“Again with ordering your superiors,” Stephen
chides, taking a seat on a stool and leaning against the wall. “I left her in a time cocoon. Your precious swamp and all of its disgusting inhabitants are safe. Unless I decide to leave, but I truly want to see your final stand.”

The
necrocaster casts a spell to fling a vial of acid at the shelf above Stephen’s head. The books fall toward the man’s head, but freeze in mid-air. As if time has been reversed, the books rise back to the shelf, which repairs itself. The vial of acid appears over the cauldron and the Lich desperately stretches his hand out to catch it. He grabs it by the neck and lets out a stagnant breath.

“Don’t interfere with this ritual potion,” the Lich warns Stephen. His red eyes flicker and smolder as if about to erupt into twin flames. “This is very delicate and making a mistake can be
deadly. I need my pets to appear before the drite’s trail goes cold, so I need to use my full concentration.”

“
So, this is why you let the drite escape. I assumed you were simply inept.”

The Lich ignores him and continues adding drops of various potions into the swirling mixture. Reaching under the cauldron, the Lich snaps his fingers to change the fire from orange to blue. Grabbing a metal spoon, he drifts to one of his worktables and pulls a jar out of a small cabinet. A puff of green smoke rises from the jar when it is opened and the Lich waits several seconds before scooping out a spoonful of emerald dust. With extreme delicacy, the necrocaster drifts to the cauldron and pours the dust into his mixture. A series of wolf-like howls echoes throughout the room, shaking the shelves and tables.

“You’re summoning a pack of famine vargs,” Stephen laughs in amusement. “Those are dangerous creatures from the realm of the dead. It would be a shame if you lose them and the backlash damages you.”

“There will be no backlash,” the Lich calmly says. He sprinkles some bone chips into the mix and grins at the sound of a low growl. “I’m not foolish enough to put some of myself into the ritual.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, worm,” the other man mocks while adjusting his collar. He moves closer to the cauldron and wrinkles his nose at the smell of burning hair. “This is why you never rose beyond your station. You’re a sniveling coward who refuses to take risks.”

“I have taken many risks and paid for them with pain,” the Lich whispers in a voice tinged with regret. He cringes at the memory of his many broken bodies, each moment of pain forged into his mind. “I prefer to limit my risk this time until the champions are standing before me. Then, I will unleash everything I have at my disposal.”

“Sounds tedious and boring.”

“Then go play with your toy in the basement. I have important work to do.”

Stephen catches the Lich by the hand before the necrocaster can begin chanting. With a quick twist, he snaps two of the Lich’s fingers off and throws them into the cauldron. The digits disintegrate and spread across the surface of the liquid. The howling wolves snarl and gnash their teeth, starving to taste more flesh and bone. Stephen grins at the melodic sound of rampaging beasts that want nothing more than to satisfy their bottomless hunger.

“What have you done?” the Lich asks in shock.

“Start your chanting, worm.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done
to me?”

“Your pets want to hear your voice.”

“Get out of my home!”

The Lich is unable to avoid Stephen’s hand as it lashes out to grab
him by the skull. He casts a quick spell and his head detaches from his neck. The other man stumbles back while the Lich’s body moves out of reach. The headless figure waves its arms over the cauldron to create an invisible lid as Stephen throws his head toward the liquid. The skull bounces off the barrier and onto the floor with a dull thud.

“I’m tiring of your demands,
worm,” Stephen angrily growls. He claps his hands and the Lich’s head appears back on his neck. “I made your pets stronger and gave you a reason to put up more of a fight. You creep back to the shadows too often like a terrified rat. Your ilk is composed of nothing more than disgusting death lovers and aura rapists. I hope my father lets me be the one to wipe necrocasters off the planet when he conquers the world. You won’t be around to see it, but I’m sure you’ll be waiting for your brothers and sisters to join you in death.”

“How you managed to keep your true self a secret in Hero’s Gate i
s beyond me,” the Lich declares. He can feel the famine vargs getting impatient, their howls echoing inside his mind. “I hope your father succeeds, but the champions destroy you before the end. A vile monster such as you doesn’t deserve to taste victory and this is a decaying corpse saying this.” The Lich holds up a hand when his ally takes a step towards him. “Again, you forget that fear can only work for so long. I no longer care, so putting me at risk with the famine vargs gains you nothing.”

Stephen spits on the Lich’s foot and stares at him with disdain.
“It brings you closer to destruction. I can control myself around anyone, but I refuse to be nice around you. My disdain and hatred for you has brewed for too long. Now, I shall sit back and wait for you to be taken out of the game forever.”

“Just remember that with me destroyed, there will be one less obstacle betwe
en you and the champions. You’re going to have to get your hands dirtier this time around. No more hiding behind the rest of us.”

The Lich smiles at the angry scowl on Stephen’s handsome face. Taking a deep breath, the Lich
chants in a deep, guttural voice. His words reverberate off the stone walls, growing strong by the second. Ripples run across the cauldron as several wolf-like noses poke through the surface. Slowly the famine vargs climb out of the cauldron and gather around their master. Their emaciated bodies are covered in gray fur with patches of orange on their feet and throats. They wag their tails like happy dogs, but their white eyes hold a chilling malice. As the Lich’s voice reaches a higher pitch, a very large famine varg climbs out of the cauldron and howls at the rest of his pack. The room is filled with over twenty famine vargs by the time the Lich is done with his chanting. Each of his new pets is patiently sitting on its haunches, waiting to be sent after their prey.

“Follow the scent of a drite who reeks of apples and fresh forest,” the Lich orders his pets. “Kill him and his friends.”

The large famine varg howls and leads the charge out the door, the pack nearly trampling Stephen. For several minutes, the tower is filled with the sound of sharp claws on the stone stairs and the panting of starving beasts. A few screams of fright erupt from the workers as the pack races out of the tower door. The orcs and giltris remain frozen in terror until the famine vargs are out of the castle and far across the clearing.

“I trust you are done with your interferences,” the Lich says in a weak, exhausted voice. He slumps in a nearby chai
r where his robed body resembles a pile of dirty laundry instead of a powerful monster. “I must make preparations in case the champions get through my famine vargs and my armies.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Stephen bluntly states. He reaches over to grab a vial of
liquefied diamonds off a nearby shelf. “I’m going to take this and see what it does to the gypsy girl. I want to get inside her head.”

“Now you wish to be like your pathetic sister,” the Lich says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Is there anything that you don’t want to do?”

Stephen thinks for a few seconds before pocketing the diamonds. “I have no intention of dying.”

“We’ll see if you have a choice in that matter,” the Lich retorts. He conjures a goblet of steaming liquid and holds it toward
the other man. “To the most loyal goes the praise and spoils. Let’s see which one of us is the last to fall.”

Stephen sneers at the arrogant Lich and disappears from the room. The Lich takes a deep drink from his goblet, relaxing as the warm liquid drips down his dry throat. When exhaustion sets in, he lets the goblet clatter to the floor and spill its contents. Ideas forged from desperation
and cunning float through his foggy mind until one plan looms above all others. He takes a bronze ring off one of his fingers and examines the delicate etching of a graveyard that runs along the dull metal.

“You will be my secret salvation,” he whispers before kissing the ring. A spark of energy passes from his lipless mouth to the ring. “Fly and find the one we need.”

The ring vibrates and rises into the air, stopping at eye level with the Lich. With a small burst of power, the bronze ring launches out the window and disappears over the horizon. The Lich breathes a sigh of relief and stands with a renewed sense of confidence. He reaches out to a book that floats to his open palm and flips to a page near the back.