Darius lay there on the wooden table, bound at the feet and wrists. His small triumph over Klavon was short lived as he was quite shaken by the very real dream he had endured. His eyes filled with tears as he realized what happened. Klavon used his past, used the people of Brandor who had ostracized him for so many years, to caress him into choosing evil. And had Klavon’s plan worked? While he knew he had held strong in the end, Darius’s heart ached as the tendrils on his hand pulsed and burned like poisonous snakes injecting their venom deep into his soul. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late—if he’d succumb to the sweet temptations of revenge.
The door squeaked, and Sira sauntered in followed by her pet. “You really are making this unreasonably difficult, you know.”
Darius turned his face away. He couldn’t wipe the tears that lay pooled around his eyes. He blinked, and they fell down the side of his face and nose, a drop clinging to the tip like a beacon in the night.
“Go away!” he hissed.
He could hear her slithering steps as she came closer. “Aw. You’ve been crying. Here, let me wipe those off for you.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Darius snapped. The words stuck in his throat, and he yanked at the binds, wanting to put his hands around her slender, greasy neck.
“Well,” Sira said, feigning astonished hurt. “Now that’s gratitude for you. Fine then. Look like a baby. Why should I care?” Sira proceeded to pick up a syringe and fill it with a bluish liquid. “This shouldn’t hurt…much.” She leaned to inject the contents into Darius’s arm.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Darius tugged at his bindings, but the movement only caused the needle to jab painfully into his upper arm, and he winced.
“Careful. You’ll make me break it, but nothing to worry about. We aren’t going to make you dream again. That obviously didn’t work.” Sira blotted the blood from where she removed the needle. “This is just to help you wake up. Klavon wishes to have words with you.”
“I have nothing to say to him!”
Sira placed a finger on her chin, looking off into the distance in exaggerated confusion. “Really?” She dropped her hand to her sides, palms up, as if begging for understanding. “Your own mother, and you couldn’t kill the guys who attacked her? Now, that’s cold.”
“They didn’t attack my mother! None of it was real!”
“Yes, but you didn’t know that at the time, did you? What a pity. Well, at least Klavon loves her.”
“Klavon doesn’t know the meaning of love!”
Sira lowered her face until her nose brushed closely to Darius’s, and he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. “Ah, but that is where you are wrong. Klavon loves your mother, and thus he loves you. Why else would you still be alive?” She stroked his hair and traced the contour of his face with her eyes. “I must admit, you do have a certain attraction about you.”
“Get away from me!”
Sira leaned in even closer and kissed him soundly on the lips. “See, it might not be so bad here after all.”
“Get your vile mouth away from me.” The vein in Darius’s neck pulsed, and he spat in her face.
Sira’s eyes became like fire as she wiped the spit from her cheek. It was the first time he’d ever seen her rattled, and he quite liked it. He was about to gloat, but before he could say anything, the door to the dungeon crashed open. Concoctions on a nearby shelf toppled and exploded with a puff of smoke. Sira jumped and whipped around.
In the doorway stood Alara, holding a club, and Loklan, holding his staff in one hand and sword in the other. Sira’s face twisted, and she yelled for her pet to attack. Loklan slammed his staff to the ground, sending a wave of force toward the cat. The pulse threw the animal toward the wall, but the agile beast pushed against the stones with its paws and flipped upright. It landed without a sound, snarling, in front of Sira.
“You fools!” she hissed. Darius could almost see a split tongue form the words.
Sira continued hissing words Darius did not understand, and she threw a vial in the center of the room, shattering it on the stone floor. A haze of noxious gas grew from the broken glass. Loklan countered, but it seemed only to worsen the situation as the green gas more rapidly permeated the room.
Visibility became impossible, and Darius lay there coughing as the cloud enveloped him. Someone touched his hands, and through the thickness he could make out Alara’s welcome face.
“Here,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
“But how are you here?” asked Darius, fearful he might be dreaming again.
“Prydon, now we have to go!” said Loklan.
Darius’s binds fell from his wrists and ankles, and two sets of hands began pulling him through the room. In seconds they were out, all three coughing from the gas that had managed its way into their lungs.
Sira laughed, the sound echoing behind them as she appeared, unaffected, out of the cloud and into the vacant hall.
“You think he would choose you over me?” she said directly to Alara.
On those words, Sira’s beast lunged at Alara, frothy spit dripping from its protruding fangs. Alara’s club made solid contact, and she sent the beast flying. This time it stumbled.
“Why not? Intelligence did,” replied Alara.
Darius ran to Alara’s side, but Loklan yelled. “Go! We’ll take care of this!”
“But…”
“Go!” demanded Alara. “Before Klavon catches wind of this!”
Loklan was already fighting Sira, and Alara kissed Darius square on his lips before she, too, moved in to attack. With a slight hesitation, Darius turned and ran up the stairs. For a moment, he wondered at the two friends who had somehow shown up to help him, but there was no time for ineffective thoughts. Darius needed to find his sword and staff and then face Klavon.
As he thought of Klavon, the tendrils in his hand pulsed, and Darius glanced at the red veins. There was no turning back. These stairs would lead Darius to face his past, the past that killed his father and left his mother destitute. And somehow in the process, Darius knew he must put those feelings aside to save Brandor, the town that had shown no kindness—all of this without sacrificing his soul.
Darius slowed as he reached the top of the stairs. He cautiously leaned out into the opening. Before him, extending what seemed to be the entire length of the castle, ran an immense corridor. Torches floated above staggered doors, and an elegant carpet ran down the center of the wide hallway. Statues of winged creatures lined the walls as if to grab anyone who dare pass.
Strangely, there were no guards. Darius slipped down the hall, keeping a watchful eye on the statues should they prove to have life beyond their stone faces. No, they remained frozen in rock, and Darius rolled his eyes. Klavon’s confidence was nauseating, the man arrogantly believing that no one would dream of attacking him inside his territory, much less his own castle. Klavon was wrong.
He came upon a room and leaned his ear against the wood. He listened; no sound could be heard. He slowly opened the door and slid inside. No one was about, and Darius set to the task of searching the room for his sword and staff. Nothing. He continued on, room after room. When he reached the last room he stopped, frozen in his steps.
Beside the door rose a steep set of polished stairs. Darius stared at them. He had noticed it while he was outside, a tall, sturdy spire reaching up into the sky, shadowing dominance over the villagers below. No doubt the Great Book would be hidden there…and Klavon, gazing out over his domain like a peacock strutting around for all to see.
Darius pulled his gaze and turned to the last door. Surely his sword and staff would have to be here. He swallowed hard, not sure what to do if it wasn’t. He opened the door, and with a burst of finality, he stepped in. In plain sight on a rough wooden table sat his treasures. A breath of relief blew over him, and he picked up his tools. The crimson flash was still visible, but there was no turning back—no other option. He donned his sword and staff like a true wizard and then slid back out in
to the corridor.
Turning back to the stairs, Darius’s nose wrinkled. The stench of Klavon’s arrogance seemed to slither down the stairs, filling the entire castle. Darius’s lips pursed in determination, and he bounded up the steps two at a time.
The passage ended at a smooth wooden door. The face of a lion carved neatly into the wood stared down at him. No, not a lion. It gloated and growled in the likeness of Sira’s cat-beast. Darius resisted the urge to spit in its face. Instead, he turned the latch. With a click, he pushed the door; it was not locked. Darius quietly entered, but it was of no benefit. In front of him stood the one he had come to face. Raising his staff he prepared for a wizard’s battle; he prepared to defeat the one who killed his father and was destroying Brandor.
Klavon turned slowly. “It took you long enough. Perhaps I gave you too much credit.”
Outside the window, Darius could see Prydon, heave in battle with Fraenir.
Darius’s voice was smooth and strong. “If you give me the book now, there will be no need for me to destroy you, even though you deserve it. I might even call Prydon to allow your precious Fraenir to live as well.”
The eyes of his foe seared upon him, burning through his very flesh. “I think not.”
“So be it.” Darius struck first, but the old sorcerer simply laughed, easily deflecting the blow.
“Do you really believe you can kill me?” Klavon raised his staff, and a blaze of red fire crashed down upon Darius.
Darius was prepared. All those nights he’d spent facing the shadow, learning from its stance, its movement, paid off. He knew what was coming and jumped aside, avoiding the fiery stream.
Klavon laughed, a cold and sinister laugh, echoing through the tall empty tower as he eluded Darius’s response. The two navigated around the circular room, exchanging blows.
“You will not defeat me, simply because you do not possess the ability, and I will not defeat you, because of…well, shall we say your mother?”
The lustful grin on Klavon’s face brought a rush of burning blood through Darius’s body. “You disgusting man!” Darius struck; Klavon parried.
“Disgusting? No. But this battle you insist on waging will only result in what the dream serum failed to do. You will become what your father feared. That is why he died. So you would not learn of your powers and become what he most envied; a strong and great wizard such as myself.”
“I will never become like you!” Darius circled the room with Klavon matching his moves, and the volley of strikes continued.
“Your father didn’t think so. Your mother and I were destined. Even if I hadn’t defeated him, she would have come to me, and brought with her the son I would raise as my own. Your father knew this.”
“You’re wrong! My mother loved my father!” Darius struck again, hatred overtaking him.
“Do I see a hint of red in your crystal? Are those tendrils burning up your arm? The temptation is strong, is it not? That is because it is where you are supposed to be, and you know it.”
“I am not tempted by anything here! I am here only to retrieve the book!” said Darius, striking yet again.
“Ah, but you are tempted. Your desire for revenge will lead you exactly where your father feared. To me. And how is your mother?” Klavon sneered as he sent a spell which Darius avoided as he rolled out of the way.
“My mother is of no concern to you!” Darius moved in closer, and they met with swords.
Several strikes advanced the fight, but neither gained ground. Darius and Klavon both lunged, and the blades slid upward until their swords were crossed, and their faces stood only inches from each other.
Klavon said, “I looked for her all those years…and to think I almost gave up.”
As the blades slid apart, there was a pause in the fight as they parted. Outside, Darius could see Fraenir dive at Prydon, slicing his back, but Darius’s attention was set quickly back on Klavon.
“Fortune smiled when I built this fortress,” Klavon said, circling the outside edge of the room with Darius moving opposite him. “I could see the tall tower across the marshy lands. Then it came to me. The one place to which she would not possibly escape, she did. Brandor had taken her in. She must have given something very valuable, very valuable indeed, to convince them to let you stay. Gold? No, she would have had nothing of that sort to offer. Perhaps…well, she is beautiful.”
Darius fumed. “My mother would never do such things!”
“Of course not,” replied Klavon. “Nonetheless, it must have been something of great value. In any case, the book was most interesting. The book fulfilled my desire. I knew that if you were there, you would be the only one they could send. You would be the only one unaffected by the fate of the pages.” Klavon raised his staff, and a red hot fire shot directly at Darius. “But you won’t be unaffected by this!”
Darius dodged the blaze, but it curved and landed directly on the tendrils wrapped around his wrist. For a moment, Darius felt weakened. The tendrils began to burn, so strongly, in fact, that at any moment, he was certain the heat would melt his veins and boil his skin. He fell to his knees, grabbing his throbbing wrist.
Klavon laughed and began circling him as he said, “I’ve been toying with you. Did you really believe you could defeat me? No, you will succumb, and your mother will be mine at last.”
As Darius leaned forward, propping himself on the floor, his thoughts turned to Prydon, Barsovy, his training, the Valley of Wizards. And as Klavon stood patiently waiting for Darius to fall, to lose his soul in the poison of the curse he so long fought against, Darius heard soft whispers. He heard the voices of his mother and father, voices from before he was even born. The purity, the sincerity, the love—self sacrificing love. In that instant, revenge was of no use to him, and the tendrils ceased to burn. His parents’ gentle voices showered upon him in a soft blue mist, and Darius’s mind was cleared. No more confusion. No more anger. He stood slowly and faced Klavon.
“Yes, that’s it, my son,” said Klavon, misreading Darius’s intentions. “I am pleased that I did not have to kill you.”
Darius laughed, and Klavon’s face became twisted as he realized his mistake.
“You fool! You will become as my own or you will die!” yelled Klavon.
The sorcerer raised his staff and began a rage of attacks Darius had never experienced before. But the calm within his heart allowed his training to ring clear. He easily deflected the spells, and Klavon’s face contorted even further.
“Not today, Klavon. You have failed,” said Darius. “And you are weak. You did not defeat my father. He sacrificed himself to save me, and…” Klavon continued to volley spells intent on killing Darius, but Darius returned with his own series of strikes—strikes that even Barsovy could not have predicted. “I will not…” another strike, “be tempted…” strike, “by your lies!”
Klavon darted out the door and ran down the stairs, throwing obstacles behind him. Darius followed, jumping over fallen sconces and dodging pillars of fire. They landed in the courtyard where above Prydon and Fraenir were heavy in battle.
“Fraenir!” called Klavon.
Darius grinned at Klavon’s fear and expected to see Fraenir come to Klavon’s aid. Instead, he looked up to see the beast grabbing Prydon’s wing, his jaws tearing at Prydon’s flesh.
“No!” Darius yelled.
In that moment, Darius felt a slice against his arm, Klavon having taken advantage of the distraction.
Darius glanced at the cut. He raised his stare and stood strong in front of Klavon. Klavon raised his staff again, but before anything was cast, the sorcerer was thrown back as a streak of pure light spewed from the tip of Darius’s staff. So clear was the blast that Klavon did not see it. As the bolt struck him, Klavon screeched. A cloud of crimson surrounded him and flashed as he writhed in pain. He was lifted from the ground, and with a burst of crimson light…he was gone. All that remained was a broken staff and shards of crimson stone, crimson that quickly faded t
o black as the stone fragments disintegrated into dust.
Darius blinked. His could hardly believe it as he looked at the ground. Klavon was gone.
Chapter Thirty-four
Prydon