The Citadel

Chapter 2
Troubled Waters

A debacle. An utter debacle.

General Cadrio stared in the direction of Gwynned, a prize lost. None of his officers dared speak, knowing that in their commander’s present mood, it might prove a fatal mistake. Not even Zander dared approach him, even when word came from the lookout that Eclipse and Murk had escaped death and now slunk back to join the invasion force. Just ahead of the ships sailed, rather erratically, the one surviving citadel, battered and nearly unable to fly.

How the Blue Lady would have laughed at the sight of his ignominious defeat. He had thought that attacking when he had would catch Gwynned, fairly untouched by the war, nearly defenseless. The gold dragons should have been far to the northeast, aiding in the Solamnic advance there. So much for military intelligence.

The storm continued to rock the fleet, but Cadrio didn’t care. He had given orders to sail until they could make landfall on a tiny uncharted island far to the north of Ergoth, and that meant a journey of several days in rough seas. With Gwynned lost, he had no new plans. There was always that offer made by the mage, but even Cadrio had limits to his madness.

“Hail, General Cadrio!”

Of course, the commander thought with rising fury. One had only to think of the blasted spellcaster and he would appear.

The general spun on his heel to confront a figure who hadn’t even been aboard the Harpy a second before. “So! Come to gloat, have you?”

The tall, hooded mage spread the arms of his crimson cloak wide, as if offended by such a remark. Cadrio desired greatly to wipe the wide smile off that goateed face but knew well the danger of even contemplating it.

“General! My friend … and you are my friend, aren’t you?” When Cadrio didn’t reply, the wizard waved off the silence with one neatly gloved hand. “I come to offer my condolences on the fickle workings of fate … and renew my proposition to you!”

“This is hardly the time or place.”

Narrow, slanted eyes so blue they unnerved even Cadrio cut the frustrated commander off. The hooded mage steepled his fingers and briefly cast his gaze in the direction of the crippled citadel and the two weary dragons. “There could hardly be a better time or place, I should think, my general.”

Cadrio began to reach for his sword but thought better of it. The crimson-clad mage took the moment to pull back his hood slightly, revealing short, cropped hair the color of night, save where some gray had intruded at the temple and the goatee. A pronounced widow’s peak and narrow, pointed sideburns added to the newcomer’s handsome, if demonic, demeanor. The gray contrasted with the youthful features and personality of the man, but the general knew how deceiving age could be where spellcasters were concerned. Dealing with this one made Cadrio feel as if he risked giving up his own soul, although that had long ago been promised to his dark mistress.

The general relaxed slightly. “All right, then. Come to my cabin. We’ll discuss this in private.”

Still smiling, the mage shook his head. “No, you will come to me, my general! You know where!”

“That miserable province of Atriun?”

“Yes. You know where it is. Five days east of Lemish.”

“That’s near Solamnic territory.”

The smile grew more cold. “Yes, it is. Go there. Where the great castle stands.”

General Cadrio needed a straw to grasp after the disaster of Gwynned, and the crimson-clad figure before him had just offered a strong one. Still, he had reservations. “How do I know I can trust you? You serve an enemy, after all.”

His visitor gazed down at the crimson robes. “Is this what bothers you? This color?” He muttered a few words of power, then, looking up, added, “Why didn’t you just say so?”

A black stain appeared on the chest of the well-tailored robe, a stain that spread swiftly in every direction, devouring the crimson color. The goateed mage stretched his arms wide, the black coursing along until it had reached not only the edges of his voluminous sleeves but somehow had enveloped the tapered gloves as well.

The wizard pulled his hood forward again, revealing that it, too, had changed to black. His smile set Cadrio on edge again. “Is this a color better suited to your tastes? I can wear it as readily as any.”

“You mock the gods, Valkyn!”

“Yes, I do. So, will you be coming?”

Despite his reluctance, the general knew he had no choice. The men might fear him, but that wouldn’t prevent them from deserting to more victorious rivals. Yet, one problem remained. “Last time you said that if I were to agree, I needed to obtain a certain item for you. Just to be safe, I gave the order the locate it, but-”

Valkyn laughed. “Have no fear, my general! I know you tried to fulfill that need even while you sought Gwynned’s rich coffers, but although your pathetic draconians failed, my own servants have dealt with the task! The mage is in my hands. Your mishap proved excellent cover for their own efforts, I must say.”

“You were there?” Cadrio felt betrayed, used. Valkyn had turned his defeat into a victory for the mage from the east.

“I am everywhere, my general. You would do well to remember that.” As he spoke, Valkyn’s form began to grow misty, insubstantial. The wind and rain cut through him, dissolving the wizard as if he had been made of smoke. Despite that, Valkyn seemed unperturbed, and as the last of his form faded, he added, “Atriun, my general. Be there.…”

Silence enshrouded the Harpy. Cadrio and his men eyed the spot where the unsettling wizard had stood. At last the general broke the quiet, turning swiftly to the helmsman. “Change course! We sail west until we are out of sight of Gwynned, then turn about and head southeast to the New Sea. Now!”

The helmsman quickly obeyed. The general turned to his other officers. “Zander! Timinion! Grako! The rest of you! My quarters in ten minutes. We have plans to make!”

Spirits lifted as Cadrio marched off. If the wizard could deliver what he promised, not even the Blue Lady and her vaunted dragon would be able to match the general. Cadrio would be able to accomplish what Ariakas had not. He would conquer all of Ansalon.

He paused, gazing back momentarily in the direction of Northern Ergoth. “We will meet again, Gwynned,” Cadrio whispered.

* * * * *

Dragons. Flying castles. Draconians. All filled Tyros’s mind, spinning around again and again in the midst of a strange storm. Now and then Leot’s voice called out to him, urging him to safety, but the storm always drew Tyros back in.

And in the midst of that storm, he saw the beaked, toothy visage of the monstrous, fiery-orbed creature.…

“Aren’t you awake yet, mage?”

His eyes fluttered open. Tyros could feel the sweat soaking his body. He tried to talk, but his first words came out as a hacking cough. Someone gave him water, which finally brought him to his senses.

He remembered where he was now-a healer’s temple, along with other victims of the attack. He recalled trying to leave the day before, but he had collapsed on the steps.

For a temple of Mishakal, the place seemed fairly pedestrian. Marble columns rose high, but they were unadorned, unimpressive. Statues of a beautiful woman reaching out a kind hand flanked a set of steps leading to the high-backed chair upon which the priestess of the temple sat. Tyros had seen more impressive work in the courts of nobles. Torches in the walls illuminated paintings showing some of the legends of the goddess’s work. On the ceiling was the symbol of Mishakal, a blue infinity sign. The same sign had been repeated in the marble mosaic floor.

The victims of the attack had all been brought to the great chamber where followers of the goddess met. Most of the others regarded the temple with awe, but to a war wizard, the miracles of Mishakal seemed less astonishing than the great spells cast in battle. Still, they had cared for him here, and he was grateful.

At last Tyros turned to his visitor, who had been waiting impatiently for the mage’s attention. He was a rough-hewn veteran of many a combat. His chiseled face bore scars on one side, and his black eyes were weary of killing but willing to do it again, a man whose education contrasted to his barbarian look. He had thin hair tied into a ponytail and a short beard. His skin wasn’t as dark as that of many Northern Ergothians, but neither was it as light as those from the south. Leon matched him in girth, but whereas the white wizard was fat, what lurked behind the newcomer’s silver breastplate was muscle.

The officer frowned at him. “Arrogant mage …”

“Captain Bakal.”

“Tyros.” Bakal had been appointed liaison to the wizards, supposedly because an uncle of his had performed the same function. The more likely reason was as punishment. The captain had a habit of disobeying his superiors’ orders in combat and doing what had to be done. That he generally chose the correct course of action mattered not a whit to the military command.

“To what do I owe this visit?”

“I’ve come to see if you can finally be debriefed today.” Bakal’s mouth curled up. “Think you’ve the stamina, boy?”

Bakal had made it plain long ago that he had no use for an arrogant, self-serving wizard such as Tyros. They had sparred a good deal in the past, but today Tyros was in no mood to do battle. He leaned back and idly eyed Mishakal’s emblem.

The weary mage blinked, realizing that he had nearly drifted off to sleep. His gaze shifted back to Bakal, who now showed some concern.

“Are you all right, boy?”

“I’m sorry. My head still throbs.”

The captain shifted from kneeling to sitting. “Probably shock. It can stay with you for some time.”

Tyros tried to straighten again and was pleased with his eventual success. “I’ll be better. It’s just …”

The veteran nodded. “That’ll happen.”

“Maybe … maybe if you tell me how the battle came out, it will help me to focus.” Tyros was curious to find out what had happened to the citadels.

“All right.” Captain Bakal leaned back. “You deserve as much, I suppose. There’s some call you one of the heroes, because the dragons and the lads followed your basic plan. I’d be more inclined to call the brave ones who died in destroying the first castle the true champions.”

So they had perished. “Tell me about it.”

“You must’ve been right about the thing’s weaknesses, boy. Did the one you helped destroy in the east go the same way?”

“No.” In truth, no one actually knew exactly which part of his theory had led to that citadel’s collapse. Those at the scene only knew that it had crashed, killing both friend and foe. Yet it had been hailed as a victory, and one that Tyros had readily accepted as time passed.

“Well, anyway, Sunfire tells me that he dropped the men onto the tower. One fell off, but the remaining pair got inside that place where you think the navigation is done.” Bakal’s tone grew bitter. “They were only supposed to capture it, but something must’ve happened, and instead they blew the tower to bits-along with themselves.” He shook his head. “I never liked your plan, Tyros. Too risky.”

“It wasn’t mine alone,” the mage protested, not wanting to take all the blame for the deaths.

“Well, you’ve not hesitated to take credit for it in the past.” The veteran shook his head. “The point is that they damaged the thing mortally and sent it spinning out of control.”

Tyros recalled the sight of the massive castle spinning madly as it headed out to sea. “Did it land in the water?”

“Aye, the sea claimed it. There’ll be no salvaging that citadel. It flew out several miles beyond shore before it dropped.”

A twinge of regret struck Tyros as he thought of all those secrets, lost forever. “What about the second one?”

A chuckle escaped the captain. “You saw those two black dragons who tried to fool Sunfire and Glisten? The lady, she sent that upstart dragon flying, didn’t she?”

Tyros could hear the man’s admiration as he spoke of the two golden dragons. It was an admiration Bakal had never shown him or any other mage. He interrupted the soldier’s reverie. “The second citadel, Captain?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. After the first one went tumbling out of control, the two golds grabbed the other black before he could escape.”

“I saw that,” the weary spellcaster said, growing impatient.

“Well, they tossed the second black right at the citadel! He hit the castle with such force it rained stone in the harbor. Must’ve upset something inside, because the citadel wobbled a lot after that, then hightailed it out of there as best it could.”

So one of the fortresses had escaped, but not without damage. Tyros wondered if it had been forced to land somewhere nearby. He’d have to listen for news.

“They’re sorry about your tower,” Bakal added. “They never meant it to happen that way.”

“The tower?” A light within dawned. “I heard the dragon cry, and then the tower shook. The draconians …”

Not realizing the extent to which Tyros now relived those fateful moments, Captain Bakal nodded. “The young black collided head-on with the citadel. He stayed aloft, but the blow must’ve addled his senses. Instead of escaping, he flew back into the city. Only he didn’t watch too well where he flew, and he sides wiped your tower.”

Tyros saw the ceiling come down again. Then Leot fell. The monster loomed before the wizard once more.…

“Mage!” Bakal had his thick hands on Tyros’s shoulder. He shook the spellcaster gently. Slowly the wizard recovered.

“The dragon … the black …” he began. “He hit the tower a second time, didn’t he?”

“Aye, after he had regained some sense and saw the two golds coming. As he backed away, he hit the tower again, this time a more direct blow. I saw the whole thing collapse as I battled one of those blasted draconians.”

Attempting to avoid another recurrence of his nightmare, Tyros shifted the course of the conversation. “The draconians. The invaders. They’re all dead?”

“Or captured. Some had sense enough to surrender. Light casualties on our side. Got the feeling that the draconians knew they’d been tossed into the fire the moment they landed. There are some segments of the city that burned, but overall we came out all right. The storm helped us, too. Bad luck for whoever planned this invasion.”

“Which will make him all the more desperate,” Tyros mused.

Bakal looked at him in surprise. “You could be right. This may not be the end of things.”

“Perhaps not,” the tired wizard muttered, feeling light-headed again. “If that’s all for now, Captain, I’d like-”

“Hold on, boy. I haven’t even asked the questions I came here to ask.”

“You probably know more than I do, Captain. A lot of what happened remains a blank to me.”

“Such as how you survived.” The graying officer eyed him closely. “We’re still trying to figure that out. The tower collapsed completely, yet you managed to come out more or less intact.”

“Except for my skull.”

“We found you unconscious well outside the ruins of the tower. There was no indication how you got there.”

Tyros forced himself to a sitting position. “Captain Bakal, I really don’t-”

“You haven’t asked me whether the White Robe survived.”

“Leot?” Belated fear for his friend overwhelmed him. Tyros blurted, “Did he?”

Instead of replying, the veteran rose. “I’d like you to come look at something with me.”

Paling, the shaky young wizard pushed himself to his feet. Guilt consumed Tyros. Leot had saved him, yet Tyros had been more concerned with the citadels. “Did you find his body?”

“Just come with me. I’ll help you walk if you need it.”

Tyros refused his aid. “I have a staff somewhere.”

“This it?”

It wasn’t the wizard’s staff he had carried with him for the last several years. This was a plain wooden one that the healers had given him to use. Tyros’s staff lay buried somewhere under the tower.

“Very well,” he said finally, accepting the staff and determining that his legs would support him. “Show me what you have.”

“It’s a bit of a walk. We’ll be going to the City Guard’s headquarters. The army’s secured it for the time being.”

Tyros steeled himself, suspecting that whatever Bakal wanted to show him would be unsettling. If it was Leot’s body, Tyros would see that the White Robe received proper burial rites. Tyros owed his friend that much.

As they stepped out, Tyros marveled at the bright sunlight. After the fierce storm and the invasion, the day felt tranquil, almost surreal.

Then he saw the damage.

Gwynned had repelled the invaders, but not without cost. The mage could see most of the government quarter, and what he saw shook him. Several of the larger buildings had suffered greatly. In many cases, entire roofs had either caved in or been set ablaze by the draconians. Two structures had been completely gutted, likely with loss of life.

“It appears worse than it is,” Bakal remarked, although his tone contradicted his words.

“How many died, Captain?”

“Far fewer than might have.”

An unsatisfactory answer, but the only one Tyros would evidently receive. He clutched the staff tightly and concentrated on the path ahead. Captain Bakal marched along as if on parade. Tyros noted the muscles in the veteran’s face twitch now and then as they journeyed through the damaged city.

The two paused at last beside a tall domed building surrounded by a high stone gate. Four sentries, wearing the sea-green breastplates of the City Guard, stood at attention, watching the pair with practiced suspicion. The fact that Bakal wore the armor and cape of an officer of the army in no way assuaged them.

“State your business,” the nearest guard bellowed.

“You know me, Kelner. Captain Bakal of the First Legion. This is Tyros, the Red Robe.”

“Orders are orders, Captain.” But the guard signaled entry.

As they entered, Tyros whispered, “I thought the army had commandeered this place, Bakal.”

“Yes, but unless we want a civil war with the City Guard, we had to let them retain control of the perimeter.” He snorted. “Would-be soldiers, but they think they’re our equals.”

Tyros had long noted the division between the army and the City Guard, so he knew not to comment. Instead he asked, “Now will you tell me what it is we’re here to see?”

“No. I want you to see it with a completely open mind.”

Partway down the corridor, they stopped before a huge door. Two helmeted sentries of the army saluted Captain Bakal. The sentries said nothing as they immediately opened the door.

“Any problems tonight?” the captain asked.

“Nothing even the City Guard couldn’t handle, sir,” one answered with a slight smirk.

“Slow as all that, eh?”

The soldiers shared a chuckle as Bakal and Tyros entered, then closed the door behind them, leaving the captain and wizard alone in near darkness. The windows of the chamber had been covered, leaving only a few oil lamps to light the place.

“Is this all necessary, Bakal?”

“You’ve fought this war how long, boy?”

Tyros frowned. “The war is over, Captain.”

“Not for some. The Dark Queen may be gone, but very few of her puppets have cut their strings. They still dance to her tune, even if they think they’re writing their own music now.”

“You are somewhat of a poet, Bakal,” Tyros said wryly. He looked around and saw table after table piled with objects covered by sheets. Some of the shrouded objects looked uncomfortably like bodies. Tyros thought of Leot and grew unsteady.

“Easy, boy. Didn’t think you’d be so touched by this.”

“Where-where is he?” Tyros breathed.

“The White Robe’s not here, Tyros. Come on.”

“Wait a moment!” Tyros called, reaching out for the officer. “You mean Leot isn’t dead?”

Bakal replied simply, “I never said that.”

Frustrated, Tyros hurried to catch up, only to have the scarred veteran suddenly pause at one of the nearby tables. The mage looked past him, noting with unease the vague shape beneath and torn and stained officer’s cloak.

Bakal eyed the shape. “This is what I wanted you to see.”

Tyros lifted a corner of the cloak from the corpse, pulled it aside, and gaped. “What in the-”

“Do you know what you’ve looking at, boy?”

He did, yet he did not. A face from his nightmares confronted Tyros: the long, sharp horns; the hard, leathery beak; the jagged, flesh-tearing teeth. Only the burning, pupilless eyes remained hidden, the monster’s lids closed in death.

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you, mage?”

“The tower … I saw it there.”

“And we found it near there … near where you lay, in fact. Do you know what it is, Tyros?” Bakal watched him closely.

“It reminds me of something from my schooling, but it’s not quite as I recall it.”

“In Gwynned, we’d call it a gargoyle. ’Course, in Gwynned, we’d only see them in drawings and statues. There shouldn’t be any gargoyles in Northern Ergoth, boy.”

“A gargoyle …” Tyros stared at the taloned monstrosity, shivering at the memory of his encounter.

“I’ve seen them, Tyros, and they’re a savage lot, but this one’s not quite the same as those I’ve seen. Stronger and somehow smarter-looking. I could name a dozen more differences, but the question is why it’s here at all. Do you know, perhaps?”

“Why would I know? The first time I ever saw one of these creatures was when it tried to attack me in the tower.”

“Attack you … or take you prisoner?”

Tyros recalled how the gargoyle could have simply torn out the back of his neck, but had seized him instead. “But why would it want to do that?”

“Why would they take two other wizards?”

“Two other-” The weary mage’s mouth grew slack. He stared at the captain, shock turning to anger. “You damned bastard! What do you know? Tyros used his free hand to seize the soldier by the cord of his cape. Bakal stared back. All arrogance had drained from Tyros. “What do you mean by that? You are not certain what’s happened to Leot, are you? You think one of these horrors took him, don’t you?”

Bakal removed the wizard’s hand. “Two of your kind are missing. Leot and Kendilious, of your own order. We don’t know what’s happened to Leot, but old Kendilious … you remember him?”

Kendilious. Tyros remembered a crotchety old mage past his prime who lived to preach to the younger mages that they knew nothing of the sacrifices a true wizard needed to make. In fact, Tyros couldn’t recall the man ever talking about anything else. And since they had both followed Lunitari, Kendilious had taken special relish in admonishing his youthful counterpart, who, according to the elder, had more ambition than caution.

“We had us a witness, boy. A member of the guard. Questioned him thoroughly. He and another man were heading for the ruins of your tower, and as they neared, one looked up. Claims he heard fluttering and thought a draconian might be gliding down on them. What he saw instead was a winged form going up, bearing with it a bald figure in red robes. From his description and the fact that there’s only a handful of your kind here, we pieced together that it had to be Kendilious.”

“And what about Leot? He saw nothing of Leot?”

Bakal shook his head. “Nothing, but a gargoyle like this took the old wizard … and since we can’t find the body of your friend anywhere, not even in the rubble, I’d venture to say that he’s also been captured.”

Tyros envisioned Leot being dragged off by such a creature. His friend might still be alive, but headed for what fate? “Why would they want us? Why would gargoyles risk death in the midst of a battle to capture wizards?”

“The command’s still debating that one, and so are your superiors, too, boy.”

“They know already?”

“Aye, and they’re a mite too curious. We finally gleaned from them that some others have gone missing in recent times, the latest being a pair of your crimson lads.”

“Two more?”

The captain nodded gravely. “Of course, there’s still one more question, one that I was hoping you might answer for me. I’m assuming you didn’t kill this beast.”

“No. It caught me by surprise. I’m not responsible for its death, if that’s what you mean.” He frowned. “I just assumed it must have injured itself when it flew me out of the collapsing tower.”

“Reasonable assumption.” The graying officer removed the old cloak. “Help me roll this thing over.”

Tyros stiffened. “The gargoyle?”

“Do it, boy.”

With Bakal doing most of the work, they soon had the creature on its back. The technical side of Tyros couldn’t help but admire the wingspan of the gargoyle and how those wings were attached. Yet all the while he noticed the gaping wound that had finally killed it, a great gash at the back of the neck.

“You see what I mean?” the captain commented.

“No.” One wound looked like another to the wizard. Had something jagged caught the gargoyle as it flew out of the tower?

The soldier sighed. “Save me from school-taught warriors! That gargoyle had its neck torn out from behind, probably while it was in flight with you! You’re lucky you didn’t drop to your death. I’d say the thing lived long enough to flutter to just above the ground, then lost its grip on you. It went a little farther, then died.”

“I was fortunate, then.”

“More than fortunate; your being here comes just short of a miracle. Don’t you understand yet what I’m getting at?”

Tyros despised being talked to as if he were an ignorant child, but he truly did not comprehend yet. “Enlighten me.”

“Oh, I will! See those claws? I checked them out myself, boy! They’d be just about right to do such mayhem. Draconians wouldn’t leave his kind of mess, even if they did decide to use their talons instead of a good blade. Something either similar or exactly like this gargoyle killed the beast as it tried to make off with you.”

“That makes no sense. You’re saying that one of its own kind killed it?”

Bakal nodded. “And therein lies the question command and your superiors are going to have fun with. Bad enough we don’t know why they’d want you, but who, by the Abyss, saved your worthless hide, Tyros?”