The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns (51 page)

“I came to negotiate Yari. Had I wanted you dead, my students could have done the-“

“If I destroy
you
, then I am
proven
to not be a waste of arcane study and life. And if I die by the hand of the great Kalzarius of Harlaheim, well, tis a good way to go for a wizard, eh?”

“You are insane, my old friend. This is not why
I came down to this filthy hole.
I came to discuss getting the queen and you out of here. I came out of res
pect for
a former student who lost his way after a terrible tragedy that he could not forget.
” t
he master of the arcane readied his staff as he saw the eyes of Yari turn yellow and gold with arcane energy. “Do not do this Yari, I will have no choice.”

“You already have no choice Kalzarius! Die
old man
!” Yari pointed his fingers at the old teacher of the arts and released three spiraling bolts of yellow arcane force, one from his hand and one from each eye. Before he
knew if they had hit, his wand shot a crackling beam of arcing yellow light that illuminated the hallway and burned the eyes of both wizards.

The light dwindled a moment later, and Kalzarius stood with
his palm out, glowing green
having absorbed the deadly spiral bolts. The old master pointed his staff and sprayed a shower of green orbs down the hallway. As they neared Yari, they exploded in green acidic mist that coated the area and his adversary. Metal bars slowly corroded, stone sizzled, yet Yari laughed, seemingly unaffected. “Too predictable, old friend.”

Yari touched a pernmanent glyph on his forearm that was an arcane seal against magical acids. “
You think I would forget my lessons?
Lishim, taharat mivvin!
” t
he wizard of the White Spider threw his hands up then forward, releasing black and silver streaks of life draining luminescent energy that twirled toward Kalzarius.

“
Kith kavvar
!” Kalzarius replied with a shield of white light that spun and absorbed the spell completely, but Yari was casting again already. The noise of chanted words and blasting arcane energies colliding was deafening and cacophonous. Orange balls of flame smashed into arcs of lightning and swarms of hail. Forbidden necromantic black rays and shadow orbs were launched into white walls of force and enchanted light from glistening arcane sleet. Blast after bolt, ray after terrible exploding beam, the two old wizards threw their skills and energies at one another with old resentment and masterful precision.

Rosana lay in her curled fetal position with her hands over her ears and eyes shut tight. The queen of Harlaheim
forgot for a moment the swollen
face and eye she had, her chopped off hair, and her starving and frail state of health. All she knew was that there was a firefight of magical powers that she could feel, hear, even smell, going on right outside her cell. She screamed, but not loud enough to breach the deafening roars
of the arcane war raging
. Sobbing now as the battle ensued, she wiped her eyes and watched smoke billowing in different colors and forms in the prison making breathing difficult. Rosana stood and went to the bars, tears streaming down her face. All she could see was the silhouette of her captor and the flashes of light and power bursting in front of him. She strained on the bars to see past the old wretch as to who
m
he was dueling with. To her shock and surprise, the bars pushed open
, were pulled open in fact. A modest
pop
as the cell door opened from a man of immense size. His deep dark eyes looked at hers, his long black beard hung over his loose white tabard. She had never seen him before, but for some reason he seemed kind and familiar. She stood silent in the spreading smoke, and he walked away without a word. Rosana blinked,
then came to as if from a dream, and he was gone. The blasts of arcane war ahead brought her to the here and now.

The queen of Harlaheim st
o
od still for a moment, waiting for someone or something to happen, to stop what she was about to do. Nothing. The fight went on, nearly
two minutes had passed she figured since it began, yet it seemed like hours. Rosana stepped out into the corridor, trembling and sca
red, then turned toward the right
and ran barefoot as fast as she could into the dark passages under Castle L’Herrim. She did not stop to look back, she made not a sound, and kept moving through stairs and tunnels that seemed to be designed as a crypt. She saw light from a grate over head, a grate that was slid off partially as if someone had used it to come in and out of. It was dark outside, cold too, but the queen climbed the chains that held an archaic and rusty chandelier to the top of an empty
underground
chamber. Pulling herself up with her arms and legs, holding onto the chains for dear life, Rosana climbed out the grate and into the city that she once ruled.
Covered in blood, dirt, rust, and tears, Rosana ran through the nighttime streets, sure that she was being followed, and into the nearest building she could find. She opened the door to the royal stables, turned in quickly, shut the door behind her, and laid her back against it. Her sobs began again, for now she felt more helpless and more at risk than ever before. And she
was all alone in a dark stable
in the middle of the night.

Kalzarius pointed his index finger and concentrated on the staff in his left hand, sensing the protective magicks working from the runes that he had activated silently during the duel. “
Hashiana tethuri
!”
r
ed lightning arced from wall to wall to ceiling and even the floor, chipping chunks of old mildewy gray stone from their solid hold. Dust flew and craters blasted out of the passageway as the electric swirls of heat and force landed into Yari. The old wretched necromancer gritted his teeth as his robes and chest burned
. Then he
pushed his wand into the r
ed blasts of arcane energy,
the wand flashed yellow with a soothing sick light that seemed to diminish the painful magical attack.

“Surrender Yari, you have nothing left that can surprise me.” Kalzarius walked closer, staff glowing green in front of him, palm raised and ready to unleash even more arcane force should he need to.

“You are dead wrong
Kalzarius, I have spells you would not dare to ma
ster in your pretty white tower!
” Yari’s chest was black and burned, as were his stank robes, yet he walked closer, wand raised and fingers pointed toward his enemy. He thought of the words of a foul forbidden summoning that produced life draining cold from the shadows themselves, unstoppable by any arcane means. The price was high, as
Yari would age several years he could ill afford as part of the casting pact with the spirits of the dead that the spell connected
to. He cared not, for to see K
alzarius beg for mercy on his knees, the old student would sacrifice almost anything. Yari stared at the smoke filled corridor and the shadow that the torches produced off of Kalzarius. “
Githmoori gianvi gissel Ul
—“

Hearing the words of dark incantation that he recognized, Kalzarius focused on the stairs behind Yari quickly. “
F
eshrool
!” h
e vanished and appeared behind his former banished pupil, struck his staff forward and concentrated on hurling Yari toward the spot he had been standing in a moment before.
As Yari was thrust forward into the shadows, they sprung alive with silver sparks and outlines that swarmed him as he tumbled across the stone floor. “
Alavinia tethur tethada
!
” the old master chanted as the screaming began. N
ot wishing to see his former student devoured by the infernal shadows that would rip him to bones, he launched a series of white orbs of pulsating ice and force into the ceiling above the horrific scene about to occur. The stones cracked and crumbled, one after another, blow after arcane blow, covering the passage nearly to the top. Only the hissing of dark animated shadows from the nether realms was audible when the dust settled. Kalzarius knew it was only a matter of moments before the shadows finished Yari’s corpse, and then came for the nearest mortal they could detect; his time was little
. H
e would have to teleport his presence back to the safety of the tower and let the spell run its course.

“My queen?! Queen Rosana?! Where are
you my lady? We must hurry!” t
he old wizard looked in each cell, seeing foul prisoners, murderers, all men. There were no women here at all, but there was one cell that was open and empty, the metal melted by acid recently
and broken open
. Hearing the motion of enchanted shadow
s from hell
clattering the rockpile behind him,
Kalzarius knew he had to leave for he had no power to do m
uch but slow the demonic darkness that had been summoned
.
He turned, seeing red eyes and silver streaks in the dar
k
that could only be destroyed
by means he did not possess at the moment, the old wizard hung his head.
He glanced at the pile, the empty cell that his student spies had told him the queen was held in, then to th
e screaming hisses of the netherworld
bent on devouring him. “Damn it!
Feshrool!
” h
e vanished into the temporal existence between there and his tower for a moment, then felt whole and safe a moment later
in the study of the eighteenth floor
.

“Master, master! Where is the queen, are you allright?” Cilano rushed to his master’s side as soon as he heard the hum of the arcane transportation.

“I am fine Cilano, I am fi
ne. The queen has escaped into t
he city I fear, or is somewhere under it. I could not find her.”

“And the foul wizard that was guarding her?”

“Yari, a former student of mine, before your time I am afraid. He is dead, unfortunately, he left me with no choice.” Kalzarius thought of the terrible pain Yari had gone through when his family was killed all those decades ago and how it chang
ed him and his studies. “He had
been dead a long time to this world, my student, now he can rest with his loved ones, I hope. We will find the queen, send our scouts now that the siege is quiet, and send the students again. She could not have gotten far."

“As you wish
,
master.” Cilano turned and walked away to head downstairs. He stopped, feeling that Kalzarius was saddened or disturbed by something, then dismissed it and carried on to organize the hunt for Queen Rosana.

“
Poor Yari, one of many caught in the dirty politics of the kingdom. One of many wasted lives that had such promise. Megos,
if you can hear me up there in Marthentine, your home on
Carice the white moon, please let his death not be in vain and keep Rosana safe.” Kalzarius bowed his hea
d, knowing that since Rosana had been
a prisoner once again, then Savanno and Sulian must have failed. He had hoped to see them locked up as well. The old wizard knew, against his hopes, that they must have been killed.

LCMVXI
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The first warm morning breeze marked the beginning of spring and the stained glass windows and heavy wooden door
s to Castle L’Herrim were open
. Light and fresh air poured in for the first time in over three months, refreshing the rather empty throneroom.
Richmond sat in his throne, watching the tapestries decorated with the crown and rose of Harlaheim flit in the slow breeze. His red robes and regal long draped style of lordship was nearly matched by Florin’s white gowns that trailed behind her almost six feet. Her hair braided
with Rosana’s
to hide the ruse, her face veiled slightly wit
h the finest lace, and for once
she did not have a weapon in
her grip
. The young king noticed her twitching and wringing her hands in anxiety of being dressed in such a manner to which she was not accustomed. Her hands needed something to do, a blade to grip, and her breathing was short and fast.

“Be calm, my queen, no one will be able to tell from the balcony. Besides, the
y will be all too busy watching
Bishop Javiel and the treacherous S
eneschal Florin receive the guillotine for treason. Just act regal and wave a bit. Hold my ha
nd, smile, and do not speak.” t
he king reached his hand out to Florin who sat in the queen
’
s throne.

“How soon will this be over, Richmond?”
s
he gazed with disgust at the young pointy nosed noble, and just as she had hoped for an answer to the effect of very short, Sir Sebastian stalked in past the royal guard and into the throne room.
His long black tabard and swinging rapier seemed as imposing as his long braids of brown curls and the scars across his face from years of battle. He was follo
wed by the younger Sir Phillip
whose stern looks of intensity were a sign of obvious insecurity at something. A moment later it was revealed as the loyal knights remaining to the Order of Saint Taru
min, Sir Karai
and Sir Leonard, marched in with their traditional shaved heads and
armbands of the feathered cross of Alden.
It was a given to any present that the knights of the holy Order were not on speaking terms with those whose loyalty was first to the throne.