“I heard about what you two did yesterday. That storm you roused nearly brought down Serranguard. Taz told me that it is rare for wizards to be able to combine their powers like that.”
“It’s called ‘enhancement’,” Adelyis spoke for the first time. Her expression was wary and Jennadil could see she did not feel comfortable speaking of it. He knew how she felt. Remnants of the ‘enhancement’ between them still hummed through his body, even a day later. The intensity of the power they had unleashed had unnerved them both. Jennadil had found the sensation dangerously addictive. It had frightened Adelyis, and Jennadil could tell she was not keen to try it again.
“Could you use this power against the Tarzark?” Will ventured. “We may need another weapon at our disposal tomorrow.”
Adelyis nodded and drew her cloak tightly around her, warding off the night’s chill. Seeing her discomfort, Will put an arm about her shoulders. “What is it Adelyis?”
“’Enhancement’ is a dangerous weapon,” she replied. “Unless we learn how to control it properly, the power it unleashes could turn against us.”
Jennadil felt Will’s eyes on him. He raised his face from where he had been studying his dusty boots, to meet Will’s questioning gaze. “Is this true?”
Jennadil scratched his neck and nodded. “With time, ‘enhancement’ could be of great use to both the Ennadil and the Orinians but Adelyis is right. Without first learning how to control it, the power is dangerous.”
“Then, what will you do tomorrow if we need you?”
Jennadil looked across at Adelyis and caught her eye.
They both knew what ‘enhancement’ did to them. It made them greedy. It made them feel invincible. It made them forget who they were and want nothing but that feeling of immense power. The desire for it was so strong it had taken all their self-control not to succumb to it.
“If there is dire need we will aid you,” Jennadil replied firmly, still holding Adelyis’s gaze, “but only if there is no other choice.”
***
Myra fastened her chilled fingers around the bowl of steaming stew and gazed up at the half-moon. She had rarely ever seen such a bright, clear night. There would be a hoar frost in the morning. The night air was as sharp as a knife blade.
“You’ll freeze out here.” A rough blanket draped around Myra’s shoulders and she glanced sideways to see Dael beside her at the wall where she stood atop one of the palace’s highest towers.
“What are you doing up here?” she said tiredly. “Worried I might jump again?”
Dael caught the edge of wry humor to her voice and chuckled.
“I didn’t do you many favors by not letting you jump did I?” he said after a moment of silence had passed between them. “You could have been saved all of this.”
Myra studied his dark profile for a second before replying. When she did, her voice was low. “I know it may not seem that way but you did me a favor.”
“I did?”
“You forced me to face things I’d been avoiding for too long.”
“I take it your husband was not in agreement to you donning men’s clothes and joining the plebs in battle?”
“He tried to kill me,” Myra replied quietly, “and he would have if I hadn’t fought back. After that I ran away.”
“I shouldn’t have left you there,” Dael’s voice hardened. “I’ve suspected for a while that Theo Brin has been steadily losing his grip on reality.”
Myra laughed. “That’s one way of putting it!”
“I could say he’s a calculating, controlling lunatic if you’d prefer.”
“That would be closer to the truth.” The laughter died out of Myra’s voice and she shivered. “He’s still around here, somewhere.”
“He’s probably lurking behind the thickest door he could find in the palace,” Dael assured her. “For all his bluster Theo Brin is a coward—and this time he has no place to run.”
“I’ve heard it said that cowards are dangerous when desperate,” Myra replied. “He’ll kill me if he sets eyes on me again.”
“Not if you stick him first,” a wicked gleam lit the bounty hunter’s eyes. “After seeing you in action today, Myra, I don’t think he’ll be a match for you.”
Myra grinned back. “We made a good team didn’t we?”
“We did,” Dael replied, smiling down at her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE TIDE TURNS
Lord Brin stared, bleary eyed, from his chamber window down to where he could see the surging wave of Tarzark breaking around the palace’s outer wall.
The sun’s first rays were slipping over the edge of the Sawtooth Mountains to the east. Beyond those evil mountains lay a vast, inhospitable wasteland that stretched north until Isador’s shores met a wild ocean. Theo Brin had never seen the Tarzark Kingdom but the knowledge that these creatures were spawn of that land filled him with terror.
The palace’s outer wall was high and solid granite. However, Lord Brin could see it would not hold the Tarzark for long. Theo stared at them in awful fascination. Each Tarzark warrior had twice the size and strength of the average human male. The only advantage an Orinian soldier had in a fight was agility and speed.
Theo Brin clutched the marble windowsill until his fingers ached, trying to quell the violent trembling in his limbs. He had not stopped gulping wine since the Tarzark had attacked, but upon seeing the beasts as they made their final assault on Falcon’s Mount, a cold sobriety washed over him. His bowels cramped and his stomach roiled.
“My Lord,” Vermel Ham spoke from behind him. “You are unwell. It is best if you come away from the window.”
Theo Brin cast his counsellor a contemptuous look but did not bother to reply. Vermel Ham’s dogged loyalty bemused Theo. He had lost everyone he had once trusted; but still Vermel Ham had remained at his side.
Theo Brin did not need a counsellor these days.
Theo would have preferred to drink himself into oblivion without his counsellor standing there wringing his hands; but Vermel Ham would not hear of it. Even so, the counsellor looked terrible. His skin was pallid and shiny and his eyes bulged from a constant state of fear.
“They are coming Vermel,” Theo finally slurred. “They will hack us all to pieces, down to the last man, woman and child.”
The counsellor gave Lord Brin a pained look but said nothing while Theo continued his drunken ranting.
“This is all the fault of Aran Fire,” Theo’s voice took on a malevolent tone. “The man’s arrogance has brought ruin to this city. The Tarzark on one side, the Morg on the other—impossible odds—but that fool did not care.”
“My Lord! Aran Fire is an honorable man,” Vermel gasped.
“He should have surrendered!” Theo bellowed. Spittle flew from his mouth and his already crimson face turned puce. “He decided our fate without ever consulting me!”
Vermel Ham watched Lord Brin anxiously. There were times when he was sure Theo would die of apoplexy, his rage was so extreme. At moments such as these, the counsellor saw madness light in Theo Brin’s eyes. The City-Lord had slipped into insanity a few days earlier when he had tried to kill his wife and had murdered Hugo, his chamberlain. Vermel had been summoned to Lord Brin’s chambers to find Theo in a catatonic state. Hugo lay dead in a pool of congealed blood on the flagstone floor near the door. The sword Theo had stuck him with still protruded from his belly.
Once Theo had recovered his wits, he ordered Vermel to dispose of the body and to send out a search party for his wife. The look in Lord Brin’s eyes as he gave the order had chilled his counsellor. Even after years in his service, Vermel had the sensation he was staring at a stranger—one who was capable of anything.
Now, Vermel could see Lord Brin slipping into madness once more. His stout, richly clad body quivered with the force of his rage. His chubby, ring encrusted fingers clenched and unclenched. The counsellor watched Theo tear himself from the window ledge and limp
across the chamber to where his swords hung on the far wall. One of them was missing. Myra Brin had taken the City-Lord’s ceremonial sword to fend off her crazed husband.
Theo ripped the second sword off the wall; it was the sword he had plunged into Hugo’s belly. Vermel was horrified to see Theo clutching it in his trembling hands. His first thought was that the City-Lord planned to do away with him too. The counsellor shuffled backwards, mute with fright but Theo Brin ignored him.
The City-Lord limped, as quickly as his broken foot would allow, across the chamber. Ignoring Vermel Ham, Theo Brin disappeared into the corridor beyond.
The soldiers defending the palace’s main gates were taken aback when a squat, jowly figure dressed in flowing velvet robes and brandishing a heavy sword, stumbled into their midst.
It took a few moments for them to recognize the wild-eyed individual as Lord Brin. When they did, many of the soldiers just stared at the City-Lord in surprise. They had not expected Lord Brin to join them in battle, especially not on the front line.
“Listen to me!” Theo Brin bellowed. “I’m in charge here. I demand you let me through. Let me through now I say!”
The soldiers stood back respectfully, allowing the City-Lord to limp his way to the front of the gate.
“It’s the only way, the only way,” Theo ranted. “Listen to them, gnashing their teeth and sharpening their blades. If they take this palace by force we will be slaughtered! I must talk to their King. I must negotiate. We shall have a graceful surrender and I will negotiate the terms!”
The tired, battle-worn faces of his men stared at Theo uncomprehendingly for a moment before his bizarre request sunk in. Outside, the Tarzark were slamming their massive battering ram into the gates and this fool was talking about a graceful surrender?
“You can’t negotiate with the Tarzark milord,” one of the soldiers pointed out. “They aren’t here to talk.”
The gate shuddered from the force of the battering ram, making the soldier’s point. Theo Brin however, was beyond listening to reason.
“Open the gate!” Theo bellowed. “I order you to open this gate at once!” He swung the broadsword around in a dangerous arc, causing the men nearest him to draw back.
“Milord!” the soldier who had objected earlier spoke up once more. He was a tall, swarthy man who bore the scars of a seasoned soldier—and he was visibly losing patience with Lord Brin’s antics. The soldier strode through the crowd, to where Theo Brin was edging up to the gate.
“Such talk is folly. The Tarzark will not parley with you or anyone else. It is madness to think they would!”
“Madness is it?” Theo shrieked. “I’m in charge here! Cur!”
Abruptly, the City-Lord seemed to lose his staggering, clumsy appearance. He flew at the soldier with a flash of steel, and his victim never had time to put his guard up. The broadsword sliced into the hollow at the base of the soldier’s neck. Blood spurted and the man fell, gurgling, to the ground.
Theo dropped the sword and rushed to the gate. He started to heave at the pulley that lifted the portcullis. His eyes bulged with the strain, but the portcullis slowly began to lift.
Despite their collective shock at what Lord Brin had done, the soldiers would not have let the City-Lord raise the portcullis and unbar the gates. Some moved menacingly towards him but before they could reach Lord Brin, another figure swathed in velvet appeared. This man was taller and even more corpulent than Theo Brin, and he rushed into their midst wielding another ceremonial sword.
Vermel Ham, his face creased into a grimace, walked up to Theo Brin and raised his weapon.
“Lord Brin, I as Counsellor to the City-Lord of Serranguard, deem you unfit and relieve you of your duties. Step away from the gate!”
“What?” Theo shrieked with laughter, continuing to pull open the portcullis. “Worm—I don’t take orders from you.”
“My Lord,” Vermel Ham repeated calmly while the soldiers clustered around looked on. Mesmerized by the absurd scene unfolding in front of them, the soldiers forgot the horde of Tarzark trying to force their way into the palace. “I repeat, step away from the gate. Lord Brin, you are no longer fit to command.”
“Get away from me!” Theo snarled. The portcullis was now half-raised. Sweat poured from Theo Brin’s forehead as he strained to finish the job.
Vermel Ham lunged forward and skewered the City-Lord on his blade.
Theo Brin’s scream echoed off the palace walls. He collapsed forward, let go of the pulley and fell to the ground. Vermel Ham sank to his knees beside the man he had served for twenty years. He gaped at the sword he had sunk into Theo Brin’s chest, struggling to comprehend what he had just done.
“Vermel …” Blood bubbled on Theo Brin’s lips. Vermel Ham stared into Lord Brin’s eyes. The maniac had disappeared and the man he had once considered a friend had returned.
“I am sorry milord,” Vermel Ham whispered, “but things have gone too far.”
Theo Brin closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry Vermel,” he gasped. “All these years … and I never took your advice when it really mattered.”
Vermel Ham’s vision blurred and tears ran down his cheeks. He sat back on his heels and watched as Theo Brin’s body went slack and the life left him.
“Counsellor.”
Vermel Ham looked up and found Lord Fire standing over him. The counsellor’s stomach twisted and he started to tremble. He had not realized the City-Lord of Falcon’s Mount had watched his act of treason. Vermel drew in a deep breath and waited for retribution. Instead, Lord Fire stepped forward and held out his hand.
“You served him well.” The City-Lord looked upon him kindly. “But in the end he left you no choice.
Vermel Ham took Lord Fier’s hand and got to his feet.
Behind them, the portcullis slammed shut. A moment later, the Tarzark’s battering ram burst through the thick gates and hit the portcullis which such a force that the iron screamed and bent inwards. The Tarzark started to pull the gate to pieces in a frenzy. The portcullis would not hold them for long.
Vermel Ham picked up Theo Brin’s discarded sword, still stained with the blood of the soldier the City-Lord had slain. Vermel took a deep breath and felt strength and calmness settle over him.
Whatever happened now there would be no turning back from it, no running away, no hiding.
A short while later the last of the palace gates were ripped aside and Vermel Ham spied the surging mass of Tarzark beyond. Their howls assaulted his ears and Vermel watched the portcullis buckle and bend inwards. The last barrier between them and their quarry was falling. Grey and red capes fluttered amongst the multitude of scaled, leather cased bodies. Their eyes shone with blood lust. Their huge mandibles gnashed and their hands stretched out towards the Orinians behind the portcullis.
Vermel Ham stared at the reptiles, unable to tear his eyes from them. His death loomed before him, and he raised his sword to meet it.
***
There was little heat in the morning sun, barely enough to melt the hard frost carpeting the land. The sweating bodies and breathing of the small army steamed in the dry air. The Yangtul loped along the deserted highway, meeting no one during their path east—all had forsaken this land.
It was mid-morning when the conical outline of Falcon’s Mount hove into view; a purple silhouette against a pale blue sky. At the head of the convoy, seated behind Taz, Will Stellan squinted up at the city and saw the plumes of smoke rising from its crown. It was the fourth morning since the Tarzark attack had begun but Falcon’s Mount had not fallen yet. Will turned in the saddle, wincing as he did so, and shouted to the others.
“The palace is still under siege!” His voice cut through the chill air. “Falcon’s Mount holds against the enemy! Ride to their aid and slay any Tarzark in your path!”
The army responded and, surprisingly, for one hundred and fifty four strong, the very air vibrated with their roar. Falcon’s Mount
stood on the brink and they would fight to the death to defend it.
Despite his injuries, Will felt the thrill of battle ignite within him. In front of him, a warrior to the core, Taz let out an almighty roar, causing their Yangtul to leap into the air in fright. The Gremul brandished his sword and dug his horny heels into the Yangtul’s flanks. The great bird squawked and bounded forward into a loping sprint. Battle cries echoed behind Will and Taz and the ground thundered with heavy Yangtul feet.
Falcon’s Mount edged closer and soon the full extent of the damage the city had sustained became clearly visible. The Tarzark had hammered relentlessly at the citadel’s outer wall. Chunks of stone lay on the pockmarked battlefield amongst the corpses of Tarzark and Orinians.
Will smiled grimly as they approached the main gates. The heavy iron doors hung open, and one had come off its hinges. Grull had foolishly not left any Tarzark guards outside to defend the city. Instead, he had brought all his warriors up into the higher levels of Falcon’s Mount. Grull’s overconfidence would be used to their advantage. The scene they rode through also revealed that the Tarzark’s taking of Falcon’s Mount had turned out to be no easy task. Will guessed that although they were clearly winning, the Tarzark had suffered heavy losses. Grull needed every able-bodied warrior at his side for the final assault.
The army thundered inside Falcon’s Mount and into the central market square. Before them lay scenes of horrific carnage. Butchered corpses carpeted the ground and the stench was terrible. Carrion crows sat atop the walls, sinister and watchful; their stomachs distended from feasting on the dead.
Will had witnessed scenes of death many times before. Apart from the massacre on the Jade Plains, few had been as gruesome as this. Will heard retching and gagging behind him and knew it would do them no good to linger here.
“Butchers!” he yelled, brandishing his sword in the air. “They will pay for the lives they have taken!”