The Warlord was in ecstasy, especially now that the High King was dead. That brief moment of terror when the stubborn man and his glowing pegasus came streaking back in had been enough to jolt the Warlord into action. The fact that the High King had survived his frozen fall was as infuriating as it was eye-opening. He thought he had already disposed of the man. This time, he was certain.
It was nearly as frustrating as fighting the wizard. He wasn’t worried, though. In the bottom of the pond he had found the Wardstone and claimed its power as his own. This wizard might be able to survive dragon’s fire, but he wouldn’t survive what was coming.
The long-consumed demon Shokin’s voice came calling through the glee. A distant, whispery sound, but clear enough to be heard above the rest. “Pavreal’s blood still powers the blade,” it said urgently. “Beware.”
The Warlord disregarded the warning words while continuing to spray his toxic miasma into the sky with one hand. He conjured forth a blast of magical force powerful enough to level a mountain with the other hand. He then sent his churning destructive construct directly at Hyden.
Chapter 59
It was too late when the Warlord realized his mistake. Had he heeded Shokin’s warning and conjured forth a shielding, he might have had a chance. As it was, the power of Ironspike, magnified by the crystalized dragon’s tear, then multiplied further by the Tokamac Verge, hit the Hell Master just before he could release at Hyden. It didn’t hurt the Warlord, and it didn’t immediately stop him from using the Wardstone’s power, but it held him fast and confused him long enough for Hyden to do what he had to do.
Hyden had to fight to maintain control of himself as the monumental force of multiple magics exploded through his body. He was filled with sensations so pleasureful, and so gut-wrenching, that it would have been easy to lose himself in them. There was pain, too. His body jerked and trembled with it. With each passing minute he aged a month or more. He managed to tune all of it out, though, and focus on what had to be done.
With the power of the ring he’d taken from Gerard, he conjured forth a clear, glassine orb of magical energy. It was slightly larger than the Warlord, big enough to contain him. The power of Ironspike, the dragon’s tear, and the Tokamac Verge suddenly let loose on the Hell Master. Inside the translucent globe, the Warlord struggled mightily to break free of the field that contained him. He began pounding and yelling and trying with all his might to summon forth the Wardstone’s magic, but the field Hyden had created kept him from reaching it. Now, the glassine substance was thickening inward, stilling the Warlord’s aggression as it encased him.
Hyden let the power of the crystal Verge snug the magical boundary down around the Warlord so tightly that he couldn’t even move a finger. The Warlord was trapped in place, as if he were frozen; only this ice wasn’t tangible, it was magical, and as bindingly solid to the Hell Master as the dividing boundaries between the heavens and the hells.
At that moment, Hyden could have killed the Warlord for good, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was certain that the binding would hold, and besides that, he just couldn’t bring himself to kill the thing that used to be his little brother. He wasn’t sure if those were the real reasons, or if he was just afraid that he would die if the Warlord did. At the moment he was too exhausted to worry much about it anymore. The fact that he felt twice his age was what confounded him as he collapsed into the water before the hovering prison he’d created.
The seemingly solid sphere settled half in and half out of the water. It appeared to be floating, but it wasn’t. Hyden sat down and leaned against it, so that only his head and shoulders were above the surface. The water was cold but not frigid. Apparently, the ground or maybe the Wardstone kept it tepid.
A long, black-and-gray-flecked beard trailed away from his chin and floated on the surface. Hyden tried to laugh, but then his eyes settled on Mikahl. Across the way, his best friend was lying dead in the snowy cobbles. Hyden was too tired to stand, but not too tired to cry. The tears blurred his eyes so that he didn’t see Phen hurriedly wading through the water waving Ironspike and screaming at him.
Behind Hyden, the Dark Lord had found the power of the Wardstone again. He had wiggled room to move here and there and was now thrashing frantically to get through the prison’s walls. Sensing the movement, Hyden turned. Already the Warlord was wearing through the globe. Hyden’s head dropped in defeat. He had failed. His fear of death, and love for his brother, had doomed them all. He should have just killed Gerard when he had the chance, but now it was too late.
More tears streaked down his face as he called to Talon. To his surprise he found that the familiar link between them had been broken.
He heard Talon’s screeching call from afar just then. He was sure it was a triggered memory from somewhere in his weary mind. He glanced up as Phen closed in on him and the failing imprisonment and realized that the sky had cleared a little bit. The purple smog and the swarms of hellspawn were thin to the point that the two dragons he could see up there held reign. He heard the hawkling again, but didn’t see him. His attention was now drawn to the boy.
Phen, with Ironspike’s wildly glowing blade held out before him as if it were a spear, charged right up to the magical prison and ran the sword right into it. When Ironspike’s blade pierced through the barrier and buried itself to the hilt in the Warlord’s chest, the explosion of blackness that engulfed him was no surprise at all. What was a surprise was that Hyden could hear the old cackling fortune teller saying, “Some day, you will watch helplessly as one you love dearly attempts to destroy what the one that sits beside you is to become.”
The concussion did surprise Phen. It sent him flipping backward head over heels. The force of the impact blew the breath from his lungs, and the sudden loss of Ironspike’s glorious symphony in his head left him empty and lost. When he hit the ground, he landed in a painful tangle of limbs.
Dostin raced to Corva’s side. He had been sitting with the three queens, waiting and watching patiently as they fussed over the balcony rail. He’d started to wallop the guard who pulled Queen Rosa back into the chamber in such a bodily fashion, but Queen Willa had called the soldier off of her in time to save him from Dostin’s staff.
The simple-minded monk had known many friends in his sheltered life, but most of them had treated him like a parent treats a child. Telgra had become dear to him during her stay at Salaya, but he and Corva had shared an adventure. Dostin loved the elf beyond measure and it showed as he urged the Queen Mother aside and began to pray fiercely over his friend’s torn and broken body.
Telgra gave him room, but she didn’t give up her place over the fallen hero completely. She, too, had grown fond of Corva. He was a proud young elf and loyal to a fault. She called upon the Heart of Arbor, hoping that the great guiding force of the elven people would lend strength to her healing magic. The first part of the response she received caused her to pull away sobbing and put her head in her hands. There’s nothing you can do for Corva, the Arbor Heart’s deep voice spoke into her mind. But you can use your restorative powers elsewhere, if you act swiftly.
No sooner did the words finish resounding than Phen ran Ironspike’s blade into the Warlord. The whole palace shook with the force of the explosion. Queen Willa and Queen Rosa screamed out in fright, but Telgra felt the poison absorbing into the roots of the Arbor suddenly diluted. She knew where she was needed and without further hesitation she ordered her soldiers to come with her. After a quick glance at the High Queen, then at Queen Willa, she climbed over the rail and gracefully made for the courtyard below.