The Citadel

Chapter 14
The Power of Atriun

The gargoyle had spoken the truth. Cadrio, helm on and visor down, had watched in anticipation as the last of the clouds broke up. The time had come. Murk and Eclipse, each burdened with five men, flew upward, beating their wings hard to make up for the added weight.

He waited for Valkyn’s magic to bring them down, just as it had the gold and silver dragons, but no lightning struck, no wind tossed the black leviathans and their riders about. Only the gargoyles came to the citadel’s defense, and to Cadrio, they were little but flies. The dragons would deal with them. The twins were eager to prove their mastery of the sky over these tiny intruders.

As for the gargoyles’ master, Valkyn had only two options: bow before Cadrio or get his head lopped off. Cadrio savored the second scenario, but still wanted to make certain that he had gleaned all the information he could from his arrogant ally first. Then, one way or the other, he would rid himself of Valkyn. The black wizard would ever be a danger while he lived.

The dragons skirted around the flying citadel, seeking out any possible danger. Without the storm, though, it seemed that Atriun was nearly defenseless. Eclipse finally dropped to the courtyard so his riders could dismount. Rudolpho and the four soldiers leaped off, immediately seeking shelter.

Cadrio, on Murk, leaned forward. “Go to the main doors of the castle! I want them burned away!”

The massive black nodded. Given the honor of carrying the commander, Murk was determined to prove that he deserved the honor. He stretched his wings and began his descent.

As they neared, Cadrio noticed that several of the gargoyles ignored the dragons entirely. They seemed more interested in some incident within the tower containing the Wind Captain’s Chair. Cadrio didn’t care what kept the defenders occupied, so long as it did not interfere with his plans.

Murk alighted just before the tall doorway of Castle Atriun. The dragon positioned himself so that he faced the bolted entrance.

“Best to dismount behind me!” Murk roared.

The men slid down the length of the behemoth just as Murk inhaled. As the general’s boots touched the stone courtyard, the black dragon let forth with a hard blast of pure acid. The deadly torrent struck the great doors, completely scalding them. Even the dark stone around the frame sizzled and smoked.

Despite his grand effort, Murk had failed to open the way. The doors had been damaged but not destroyed.

“They’ve been treated with some protective substance!” Cadrio snarled. Whether it had been the work of the Solamnic Knight or Valkyn, the general did not care. He would brook no delays. “Do it again!”

This time, Murk drew in as much air as he could, then unleashed a burning storm that ravaged Atriun’s entrance. The doors at last crumbled, the remnants smoking, pockmarked. Bits of the arched frame collapsed.

“Return to the Harpy! Bring up the reinforcements!”

The dragon nodded, leaping into the sky. Cadrio gathered Rudolpho and the others together, then made for the devastated doorway. A pair of gargoyles landed among them, one seizing the man next to the general. Cadrio wasted no time, thrusting his blade through the monster’s neck. As he pulled it free, another soldier helped the first man up.

Rudolpho stood in front of the remaining creature, the black mage’s hand raised. The gargoyle froze in place, then toppled over like a statue. Rudolpho brought his foot down, shattering his petrified victim.

“Save your magic!” the commander shouted. “You’ll need it for Valkyn!”

As he said the other wizard’s name, thunder crashed.

“By her infernal majesty!” The vulpine commander paused at the ruined entrance, peering up at a sky that had darkened so suddenly that his eyes needed a moment to adjust to the gloom. The wind picked up, blowing with such strength that the men could barely stand. Cadrio felt his skin burn where droplets of acid, flung up by the gusts, splattered against his cheek.

“No …” he whispered. “Too soon! Too soon!”

Eclipse had already flown off, but his brother could still be seen from the courtyard. Cadrio started to call the dragon to him, then noticed that Murk also struggled with the wind. Even as Cadrio watched, the black leviathan was pushed back toward Atriun.

“Fly, you miserable wyvern! Fly!”

Murk tried but lost more distance. Now he flew nearly directly above the enchanted fortress, tossed about like a leaf.

Lightning crackled. Thunder roared again.

A crimson bolt struck Murk.

The black dragon roared in agony. He tried to fly in one direction, but a fearsome wind tossed him to the side, sending the helpless leviathan away from the citadel.

A second bolt ripped through the dragon’s left wing; another scorched his tail. A sickly sensation spread through the commander.

Valkyn had control of the storm again and now demonstrated to Cadrio the folly of having dared to betray him.

Scorched in a score of places, his wings half-tattered, Murk roared in agony and once more tried desperately to flee. At first Cadrio thought the dragon would make good his escape, but then he noticed the black clouds swirling just over the beast.

Twin bolts caught Murk between them.

The black dragon let out a howl of agony, a howl cut off by a final bolt so powerful the behemoth’s form shook uncontrollably.

One eye burned away, Murk’s head slumped. The wings ceased beating. Cadrio had witnessed the deaths of the silver and gold dragons, but found this no less stunning. Now limp, the immense body of Murk should have immediately dropped toward distant Krynn, but for several seconds it bounced around in the sky, tossed by turbulent and highly unnatural winds.

Then, when Valkyn apparently thought the lesson had been burned into Cadrio’s mind, the winds slowed. The ebony dragon’s great corpse vanished from sight as it fell beyond the walls of the citadel.

The storm intensified once more. Wind tossed loose objects about like a child’s toys, and even the gargoyles, who should have been under the protection of their master, could barely reach safe perches. Buckets of rain poured down, driving Cadrio’s squad into the castle. Thunder shook Atriun.

A lone figure, clad in dark, shadowy robes, awaited them in the front hall, not the ghostly shape from the tower, but almost identical. Within the confines of the black robe, different from that worn by Valkyn, Cadrio noted the lower half of a sallow, emotionless countenance with thin, almost nonexistent lips.

The specter raised a bony hand and uttered a single word: “Waaait …”

The voice put the general’s already taut nerves on edge, but he wouldn’t let any walking corpse tell him what to do. “Where’s Valkyn? Where’s your master, ghoul?”

When the lone guardian did not reply, Cadrio marched forward, his sword at the ready. Behind him, slightly more reluctant, came Rudolpho and the others.

The shadow servant pointed at the floor just before Cadrio.

A flash of fire drove the men back. The fire traced after them, almost as if it were alive … and hungry.

Only Rudolpho stood his ground, already casting a spell. “Simple fireworks, General! I’ll have them countered in just-”

What looked like a wide, toothy mouth formed in the flames. Suddenly it snapped forward, growing ten times larger in an instant.

The fiery mouth swallowed Rudolpho whole before the mage even had time to realize his fate.

Cadrio and the soldiers stumbled back, each certain that he would be next. The mouth vanished, but the fire advanced, driving them farther back. The invaders tried to retreat to the ruined doorway, but the flames were faster.

A wall of blazing heat surrounded Marcus Cadrio and his men, imprisoning them. The flames burned so close that the general felt as if he were going to be boiled alive in his armor.

And once more the ghastly guardian repeated: “Waaait …”

Sweat pouring down his body, his armor like a tight-fitting oven, General Cadrio knew he had no choice now but to comply.

* * * * *

Tyros screamed.

“The pain should eventually numb you,” Valkyn remarked calmly from somewhere beyond the other mage’s tear-filled gaze. “They all cease screaming eventually.”

A sensation such as Tyros had never thought to experience coursed through him. He felt as if his body burned, although no flame could sear him from the inside as this agony did. The fair-haired wizard knew what assailed his body, knew what caused him such pain, and that knowledge only made his situation that much more terrible.

Magic-the elemental force that had, since his first teachings, grown to be so much a part of Tyros-filled him, touched him each passing moment, became anathema. It ripped the mage apart from within, entering his body, coursing through his very being and flowing out into Valkyn’s arcane device. Tyros drew magic into him, more magic than he could ever use, and then gave it to his captor. He could not do otherwise. The spells the black wizard had utilized to create his diabolic mechanism demanded it.

The arcane device and the spells with which it had been imbued forced Tyros to repeat the process without pause. So much magic entering, filling, then leaving his body in a rush took a toll on him, both physically and mentally. The pain threatened to drive him mad, and the tremendous magical forces, more than a mortal body should have to accept, ate away at his imperfect human form. Given time, the process would drain Tyros completely, leaving behind a burned-out husk.

Tyros stood with arms and legs stretched to the side, manacles holding him securely in place. Only now did he notice that the manacles had not been forged from iron, but rather some more conductive metal, perhaps copper. Tyros realized that, in addition to keeping him chained, they served also to transmit the magic to the columns, where the great crystalline spheres then stored or discharged it as needed.

Above the trapped mage, the twin spheres crackled with renewed vigor. Obviously Tyros was a more useful component to the mad device than burned-out Leot. Even deep within the castle, Tyros could hear the thundering of the sorcerous storm as it grew to new life.

This, then, was how the spellcaster had chosen to work around the cumbersome design of previous citadels. Although Valkyn did not see it so, his powerful spellwork demanded at least as much, if not more, power. Leot had lasted only a matter of days; Tyros might last that long, but little longer. Valkyn would have to constantly capture new wizards to keep his creation afloat.

The mad mage had turned from the teachings of the orders, even those of Nuitari. Valkyn had chosen to make himself a renegade, one who served his own evil, not that of any god.

Yet Valkyn clearly did not see himself as evil … just determined in his research.

“Gwynned will be the final test for my castle, Tyros. I will need the city and its resources to further my experiments. The choice could not be better! Do you know that the mountains of Northern Ergoth are where these crystals were originally mined? I’ll be needing more of them, both to replace these eventually and to ready citadels still to come!”

Tyros had always been ambitious, even to the point of arrogance, but clearly Valkyn had outdone him. Gritting his teeth and blinking away tears, Tyros forced out, “And how do you … hope to keep them all … afloat?”

Valkyn smiled. “There will always be magic and those taught to wield it.”

“But who … can you trust to fly your demented creations? Cadrio? The gargoyles?”

“No. My shadow servants are more loyal. Give them a command and they obey it to the letter. They will serve as my captains.”

Tyros tried to sneer, but his pain no doubt made the expression a pathetic one. “As no one else can be trusted? You will become … a very lonely, very nervous emperor of Ansalon if you can trust no others to serve you.”

The smiling figure did not reply at first, instead going to the column on Tyros’s right and inspecting the symbols carved into it. A frown briefly replaced the smile as Valkyn touched his gloved hands to the column and started mumbling. The symbols suddenly shifted and changed. New patterns appeared.

Valkyn pulled back, mulling over his work. “There! That’s better. That should regulate the flow better and keep you alive a little longer.” Seeing no gratitude in the prisoner’s expression, Valkyn shrugged, finally replying to Tyros’s remark. “A tiresome role, Emperor of Ansalon. Ariakas would have been welcome to it had he lived. I thought Cadrio would do well so long as he understood his place, but I’ve been forced to rethink that alliance.” He clasped his hands together. “And speaking of the general, as he, too, has made his way so diligently to Castle Atriun, it behooves me to greet him and perhaps admonish him properly. If you will excuse me?”

A flash of light burst forth where Valkyn had stood. At the same time, new, sharper pain ripped through Tyros. He screamed and did not stop screaming for more than a minute. When at last he could keep himself from crying out, the ragged wizard looked around. Valkyn had completely disappeared. The shock that Tyros had felt had been due to the mad mage’s latest spell, which had drawn upon the device. So each time Valkyn cast a spell of strength, the magic would course through Tyros.

“What a fool I’ve been.…” He had dreamed of capturing the citadel and flying it back, creating a legend that would rival that of the motley band that had somehow managed to defeat Lord Ariakas and drive Takhisis back. Instead, he would be a minor part of another legend, Black Valkyn’s Death Citadel. Tyros had witnessed what Atriun could do against gold dragons; surely nothing else could match it so long as its master kept the foul edifice powered.

As for that, as Valkyn had said, there would always be magic and those taught to wield it.

Another surge caught him unaware. The helpless spellcaster let loose a roar of agony, at the same time feeling a slight shift in the castle. Atriun had begun moving toward Gwynned, and Tyros could do nothing to stop it. Nothing.

Again the devilish device flared. Tyros cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Nothing …

* * * * *

Serene lay atop the immense, soft bed, staring, without seeing, at the gilded decor of the sumptuous chamber Valkyn had provided her. Love had truly blinded her, for how could she not have noticed his dark ambition? He had played her for a fool the whole time. Serene had thought him a kindred spirit, one fascinated by the wonders of the natural world. Instead, he was the foulest of monsters. She did not quite know what her former love’s spellwork entailed, but in the process, it turned his fellow mages into soulless puppets, animated husks who existed only to obey Valkyn’s will.

And now Tyros suffered the same fate.

Tyros. The cleric had at first found him insulting, arrogant, but that had changed, in part because of him, in part because of her. He reminded her of Valkyn, but Valkyn before the evil had revealed itself. Beneath the arrogance, though, Tyros cared more than he often revealed. True, he had his ambitions, but so far she had noticed that his ambitions stepped aside when lives were at stake.

In her mind, Serene imagined the faces of both men. She saw the Valkyn she had loved, the Tyros she had come to know. Already the cleric had a better idea of what the second mage was like. Tyros was a man she could look up to, could trust … possibly even some day love?

Serene remembered the face in the tree. The final face. The one that Branchala had shown to her when she had wanted to find Valkyn.

The Bard King had shown her Tyros’s visage instead.

It was too soon to say what might lie in her future where Tyros was concerned, assuming that the two of them had a future. The Bard King might have simply been trying to save his cleric from the horrible truth about Valkyn, yet Serene would never have the opportunity to find out if they didn’t escape. Tyros, though, could do nothing. He was chained to the magical device, tortured every second that Valkyn made use of him.

It was all up to Serene.

She sat up. A brief sense of vertigo nearly forced her down again, but she fought it back. Valkyn’s damned spell still held her in check, still prevented Serene from calling upon her god.

A sorry cleric she made. Her own regrets about Valkyn worked against her. Serene rose from the bed and headed toward the balcony, trying to clear her head.

Outside, the storm clouds rumbled. The cleric stepped back as a gust of wind tried to pull her from the balcony. Branchala watched over weather, and so Serene usually reveled in displays of nature, but as with everything else in and around Atriun, she felt nothing but revulsion for the elemental forces that parodied a true storm. This weather existed only because of Valkyn.

She stepped out again, daring the magical storm. Amongst the black clouds, crimson and gold lightning flashed. Serene felt a tingle and knew it to be magic. Trying to calm herself, she looked down at the wooded garden, the only location in the castle that gave her comfort. How she longed for her woodland home …

Out of the treetops burst three ferocious gargoyles. They quickly flew skyward, clearly anxious about something. One glanced her way as he rose, his beaked maw opening in warning.

Serene fled back into the chamber, not afraid but no longer comforted by the outside. Her entire world seemed to be of Valkyn’s design, and try as she might, Serene could find no escape from it.

Caught up in such turmoil, the cleric didn’t notice at first that she was no longer alone.

“Serene! Is this your room? This is much nicer than where Captain Bakal and I had to stay and probably better than where the captain is now if he’s still alive.”

“Rapp!” She flung herself on the kender, holding him close. To see a familiar face now briefly erased some of the pain she felt. “How did you get here?”

“The door was locked, but I had my best picks, and it-”

“That’s not what I mean.” Given a chance, the kender would go into great detail about his lockpicking skills. Serene had no time for that. “I meant how did you get past the guards?”

“Oh. They found something down the hall to investigate.” Rapp put a finger to his lips. “You shouldn’t talk so loud. They may be coming back soon.”

That the small figure’s own voice carried far more than hers did not, of course, occur to him. The cleric nodded, though, knowing that if she spoke more quietly, so would Rapp. “You mentioned the captain. Where is now? Can he help us?”

Rapp momentarily grew serious. “I … I don’t know where Bakal is, Serene. Tyros wanted us to go to the tower where the controls are supposed to be to fly this castle.” He brightened again. “Can you imagine that? I’d like to try to fly a castle! Do you think that if we’d gotten up there, Bakal might have let me have a hand at the wheel?”

“Rapp!” Forcing herself more to be calm, Serene asked, “Where did you last see Bakal? Did he ever reach the top of the tower?”

Again the tiny figure lost much of his usual cheerfulness. “No … there were magical traps and gargoyles everywhere. Not like Stone, but bigger, nastier ones! They came at us from all sides, and they had nets, too! I slipped under one gargoyle and got away. I couldn’t help the captain. I hope he’s not mad at me!”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I doubt it. So they didn’t kill them?”

“I don’t know, Serene. I saw them dragging Bakal and three others away. They were beaten bad, but not dead … I think.”

Valkyn could have only one reason for leaving any of the remaining soldiers alive. He was interested in what Bakal might know about Gwynned’s defenders.

So that left only the kender and herself. Not what Serene would have preferred, for in truth, without her link to her god, Serene had nothing to offer. Even Rapp could offer more.

“Serene, do you know where Tyros is? He said he was going to do something to make the clouds go away, but the clouds only went away for a few minutes, then came back real fast and even killed one of the black dragons. You should’ve seen it! I almost felt sorry for the dragon, even though I really don’t like black ones because they try to eat griffons, not to mention kender!”

“Rapp.” The cleric kneeled down on one knee and looked him in the eye. “Rapp, Tyros is a prisoner, too. Of Valkyn. You remember Valkyn, don’t you?”

Rapp’s eyes narrowed, as close as the kender ever got to anger. “I don’t think I like Valkyn, Serene, even if you did love him. He destroyed Norwych and hurt my griffons.”

“I’ve no more love for him than you do,” Serene promptly returned. In truth, only loathing remained for the mage. He had betrayed everything she believed in. “He’s using Tyros to keep the citadel flying, but the longer Tyros is part of the spellwork, the more likely he’ll die!”

The kender thought about this. “We have to help him, then! I like Tyros. Taggi likes him, too, I think, and Taggi’s a good judge. He liked you, didn’t he?” Rapp rubbed his chin. “Maybe you can pray to Branchala to stop the storm; he’d be real good at that! When that happens, Valkyn will want to investigate, and I can find Tyros and release him! I’ll bet he’s down deep inside the castle! I remember which way he went originally, and I can-”

“Rapp, I can’t call on Branchala. Valkyn’s seen to that. He’s cast a powerful spell on me. I’m cut off from the Bard King.”

Instead of dismay, puzzlement dominated the kender’s expression. “But how can that be? Valkyn isn’t stronger than Branchala. Does he make you not believe in the Bard King?”

“No, I still believe in him.”

Rapp shook his head. “Then I don’t understand, Serene. Valkyn’s just a wizard. I mean, he’s a strong wizard, but just a wizard! Branchala’s a god, and you talk to him all the time! How can Valkyn’s spell stop you from doing that?”

“It’s not that simple,” the cleric snapped, recalling how Tyros had said much the same. Even though she had managed to keep herself conscious after her earlier attempts, Serene had made no further progress. The harsh headaches still plagued her. If she pushed herself too far, she felt certain that she would again collapse. “I can’t be of any help in that way, Rapp.”

She had never seen a kender look so disappointed. Rapp hid the emotion almost as quickly as he had displayed it, but the expression remained burned in Serene’s mind and heart.

“It’s all right, Serene,” he finally murmured. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get Tyros on my own!”

Disgust for her own uselessness filled her. “But you can’t do that. I’m going along with you. I can handle a staff, at least.”

Rapp crossed his arms, trying to look stern. The cleric had seen him assume such a stance when he had admonished the griffons for breaking into some farmer’s chicken coop. “I really better go alone, Serene. You humans are big and clumsy when it comes to sneaking around. You better wait here. I’ll find Tyros and rescue him. He’ll know what to do then!”

Before she could argue with him further, Rapp hurried toward the hallway door, eager to be off on his adventure. However, as he reached for the handle, he suddenly paused, his head cocking slightly to the side. Serene realized that the kender was listening.

Shaking his head, Rapp returned to her.

“What is it?”

“Your guards are back. I’ll have to go out the balcony. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“You can’t. You’ll be blown away.”

Despite her anxiety, Rapp raced to the balcony, taking cover only when he stepped outside. Serene went as far as the balcony doors, watching her small friend. Rapp slipped to the rail, then, after peering through it, started to climb over it.

“I’m going with you!” Serene stepped out just as a hard gust struck. She had to keep hold of a door to prevent herself from crashing into the rail.

Rapp hugged the rail tightly. He finished climbing over the moment the wind died down, pausing only to stare at Serene through the columns of the rail. “Go inside, Serene. I promise you that I’ll be safe. You just go talk to Branchala, all right?”

He dropped out of sight before she could reply. Rapp’s words stung her. Abandoning the windblown balcony, the cleric returned to the bed, trying to convince herself that the kender just didn’t understand. She well knew Valkyn’s power. His magic had brought Tyros to his knees. His magic had raised Atriun, and with that magic, the sinister flying castle had torn Norwych apart. What hope did she have of overcoming Valkyn’s spell?

“Listen to yourself!” she murmured. “Maybe Rapp’s right. You never let such thoughts bother you even during the worst of the war. Why now? You’ve fought terrible evil, and the Bard King has always been with you. Why would he abandon you now?”

Something stirred within Serene. She knew Valkyn too well, knew his power, knew his mind. She wouldn’t let Valkyn’s trickery and betrayal be her downfall. His love might have grown twisted, but for her, there would always be one whose love for her would remain pure and compassionate. Despite her doubts, he would be there for her. He had to be.

“Branchala,” the cleric began, her head already feeling light. “Bard King, forgive me for my lack of faith, my lack of love.…”

The room began to swim. Serene fought against it. She had not only Valkyn’s spell to defeat, but her own misgivings as well, which gave that spell more strength over her.

“Branchala, hear my song. Hear my call.” Her hands shaped themselves, as if holding a lyre or a Bard’s harp. Serene’s fingers began to move as if she played that instrument. No sound came, of course, but the movement soothed her, pushed back the vertigo.

Emboldened, the cleric opened her mouth to sing. The words were not in the Common tongue, nor even that of the elves, who had served Branchala longer than humankind. The words came from the Age of Dreams and had been passed down to the faithful from Branchala himself. They evoked the beauty of the forest, the caress of the wind, the gentle might of nature. The first time she had learned to properly sing those words, Serene had found herself filled with such bliss that she had known no other calling would ever suit her more. She had been certain that she would ever be a cleric to the woodland god.

Again a wave of vertigo nearly overwhelmed Serene. Her fingers faltered and she missed a word. Summoning her resolve, the cleric picked up the song again, letting the words come louder, more free. The rumble of the storm without helped mask her singing, but Serene knew that she risked discovery. Still, she didn’t care, at last feeling as if she had rediscovered herself.

On and on her fingers strummed, playing the silent notes in accompaniment to her voice. Serene sang, picturing the forest in which she had lived, the animals she had known, the people whose lives she had touched. The cleric imagined the faces of her present companions, Rapp, Bakal, and, most of all, Tyros. They needed her and the strength and love of her god. Serene looked to Branchala, asking him in song to give her the chance to fulfill that need and help them all put an end to Valkyn’s abomination.

And as her fingers continued to play the air, notes began to resound through the chamber.