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UNABLE TO RAISE HIS arm, Ivan instinctively closed his eyes to protect himself against the bright flash. He knew that flash and what it meant. They were about to transport. Feeling every ounce of energy leave his body, Ivan broke off his mental struggle with Merglan and allowed the white light burning through his eyelids to take him. He felt a hand grip him, too tired to open his eyes, Ivan thought, Anders has found a way. We’re leaving now.
The light vanished, followed by a deafening crack that echoed into a hollow space. He slumped on his knees, wavering to keep his body from falling. With his eyes still clamped shut, Ivan inhaled through his nostrils, trying to smell the new surroundings where Anders had taken them. As he sniffed, he found the strength to crack open his eyelids. The light in the space around him was dim, what little there was seeping in through stained-glass windows. No! he thought, realizing where he was. He felt the hand that gripped his arm let go and then smelled the familiar scent of dragon fire on charred stone.
Ivan felt the last of his iron will shatter as he toppled to the stone floor. He lay trembling from the exertion, having given all of his energy to helping Anders and Zahara find an opening. He heard Killdoor’s terrible roar and felt the dragon’s hot breath over his body. His ears screamed from the deafening roar so close to his head as the fierce dragon’s crow ended.
The ringing in his ears blocked out the clicking of heels as they circled around him. Ivan saw Merglan’s boots, but his eyelids felt too heavy to keep his eyes open for long. He blinked slowly, resting his eyes for short intervals. He could see his enemy moving from standing to kneeling in a few choppy blinks. He saw Merglan shake his head. In a blink, Merglan was standing over him again. Then Ivan felt something hard push against his shoulder and he rolled onto his back, now looking up at the high ceiling.
“I didn’t think you had that in you,” Ivan heard Merglan say through his fog.
Ivan tried to move, but his quivering muscles didn’t respond. His verbal response came out as a low groan.
“Careful now,” Merglan said again, this time sounding closer. Merglan’s hand was on his chest. “Don’t overdo it. It’s over, Will. For you. Your little son might’ve escaped me this time, but if you recall, so did you once.” Merglan’s words cut through the fog. Ivan understood that his efforts weren’t for nothing. He had allowed his son the time he needed to escape.
Ivan attempted to summon magic, his last-ditch attempt to take Merglan down once and for all. If he could sneak in one well-placed shot to an artery, Ivan might have enough left in him to take the dark sorcerer out for good. His body seized as he attempted to summon the energy and Ivan knew he was likely going to overexert himself with this last attempt. The energy required to kill Merglan would, in turn, kill him, too, but based on how he felt, he was already dead. Better to die now in taking out the greatest threat to Kartania, than to die in a cell where Merglan was likely to place him.
“Oh, Will,” Ivan heard Merglan say as he struggled to force the magic to come to him. “You can’t possibly think that will work; you’re practically broken.”
Ivan didn’t give in, instead trying harder and feeling the tingling of magic starting to well in his skin. This is it, how I die, how I was always meant to go, he thought.
Unfortunately for you, Merglan said, his voice now penetrating Ivan’s mind. I can’t let you kill yourself, not yet anyway.
Ivan’s eyes snapped open. Just as he was attempting to force his last act of magic, Merglan’s hand covered his face. A red spark shot from his palm and all went pitch black.
***
When he awoke, Ivan’s head swirled with pain. He tried to move, but his body felt like stone and every muscle burned. Cringing as he attempted to move, Ivan’s head spiked with pain as if Killdoor’s massive claws were crushing his skull. When he mustered the courage and energy to open his eyes, he found his surroundings cloaked in darkness. The searing pain in his head made him dizzy as he stared blankly into the dark. Gagging from the intolerable pain, he rolled to his side. Every muscle in his abdomen cramped and locked in place as he dry-heaved in the billowing bedsheets. As his abdomen continued to tighten, he became aware of the bed he was lying in.
The sheets were soft, much softer than any wool blanket he’d used on the trail. He could feel the ends of feathers poking through the case covering the fluffy pillows as he curled into the fetal position. Gasping for air, he felt the weight of a heavy down comforter on his body.
Wishing the physical and mental pain would end, Ivan wondered angrily, Why am I in such luxury? It didn’t make any sense to him. A moment ago, he was trying to take out Merglan with one final spell, one that would’ve undoubtedly killed him at the same time. Now he lay in the most luxurious bed he’d lain in since he was a young man; since he was a prince in the capital of Southland.
As the cramping subsided, he straightened, once again able to lie still and ease the relentless aching in his mind. Light glowed through a window, somewhat dimmed by thickly woven drapes. He couldn’t see the window without turning his head, but if he looked straight ahead and focused on the outer edges of his peripheral vision, he could see the ambient glow of daylight outlining the curtains. The bed’s frame came into view, its dark wooden footboard arched with two pinnacles rising on either side, the canopy blanketed in dark cloth overhead. With the familiar bedframe, elegant bedding, and location of the window to his right old memories flashed into his mind.
Is this where I think it is? No, it can’t be. But if it is, why? he wondered while gathering the courage and strength to stand. Moving slowly, he moved the bedcovers aside and planted his feet on the stone floor. Balancing with the aid of the stone wall backing the headboard, Ivan shuffled to the window. He recognized the curtains as those his father used to decorate the castle. Ivan felt the thick fabric with his fingers, then drew them back, allowing sunlight to fill the room. Squinting and blinking to clear his watering eyes, Ivan turned and confirmed where he was.
He was standing in his childhood bedroom; the room he’d grown up in, back before he was known as Ivan, back when he was William, Prince of Southland and heir to the kingdom of humankind. It was exactly as he remembered it the day he’d left, the day when he and Hannah set out on a journey and never returned. The memories of his time in this room came flooding back, but he didn’t have the time to linger. He saw that he was alone in the room, his captors likely thinking he was still unconscious. This would be his opportunity to escape. Looking to the door, the only entrance or exit from the room apart from the widow, he began limping toward it.
He cracked it open and carefully glanced into the hallway. Wall-mounted torches lit the castle’s stone interior hallway. Opening the door farther, Ivan realized that no one stood watch, he could attempt an escape.
Grasping the wooden doorframe, he hobbled out into the hallway, except he didn’t move into the hallway. Ivan stopped, his breathing quickening at the strangeness of what had happened. While he continued to cling to the doorframe for balance, he was now looking into his bedroom as if he was just entering. Looking over his shoulder, Ivan saw the glow of torchlight in the hallway.
Confused, he shuffled on stiff legs to again face the open doorway. Cringing as he forced his body to move quickly, he stepped awkwardly through the doorway. This time his momentum carried him through the doorframe, yet he stumbled back into his bedroom. He reached out for something to hold onto and cried out in frustration as he found himself entering the room he’d attempted to exit. He fell to the floor, landing on an ornate rug in the center of the room. Using the marble table at its center and the nearer of two wing chairs, he pushed himself back to his feet.
This is some twisted trick only a madman could come up with, he thought, cursing the sorcerer he knew was responsible. There’s got to be a way out of here, he thought, searching the room.
As he looked around the room in search of another exit, he noticed that nothing had changed since he left this room all those years ago. The bed remained in the same place with the same bedding. All of his old trunks lined the far wall, presumably filled with clothes and other trinkets any young prince would’ve desired. His expansive closet was filled with suits and rich silk shirts hanging from wooden hangers to keep from wrinkling.
Everything is exactly the same, except for that, he thought, his gaze landing on the small wooden box on the seat of one of the chairs. Simple in design and the size of his palm, Ivan stood staring at the box. He could feel something familiar about it, though he didn’t recognize the box and wondered why it was placed so deliberately in that chair. Ivan scratched at his head, the memories of how he’d gotten here started to blur. He blinked, the pain from this thinking squeezing his mind.
This doesn’t make any sense! Why am I here?
He limped around the small table to the large-paned window on the opposite wall. Flipping open the latch, Ivan pushed the window open. Fresh air blew past him as he looked out over the courtyard. His room was three stories up, too far to jump safely. He’d die trying from this height.
Looking down the stone castle wall, he thought, I could climb down. I did it before when I was younger.
Ivan pulled up his pants and sat down on the window frame. His stumbling about the room had actually loosened his muscles slightly. Raising one of his tired legs, he now straddled the window frame. Looking out the window, he cursed.
The right side of his body, the one that had been facing outside, was now also facing inside his room. He looked left into his room and then he looked right into his room. Just to confirm that this wasn’t an illusion, he dropped his right side into the room. His foot landed firmly on the floor. He pulled himself through the aperture and back into the room. Turning around to look out the open window once again, he could see the courtyard below and feel the breeze gently blowing on his face. Ivan spat at the magically altered opening in frustration.
Stepping away from the window and toward the table, Ivan said aloud, “Why am I here?”
As if in response to his question, Merglan appeared in the doorway, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture.
“You,” Ivan growled through gritted teeth. “What have you done to me?!” he shouted lunging at the man despite his feeble state.
Merglan easily sidestepped Ivan’s assault, allowing him to stumble past through the doorway and boomerang back into the room again, tripping on the rug as he fell to the floor.
Merglan brushed his hands together and said, “My dear friend, I thought you’d appreciate being put up in your old room.”
Ivan sat up and glared at the sorcerer. He wanted to kill this man with every inch of his being. Merglan had destroyed his life several times over and Ivan wanted revenge. He called upon the magic within him, but there wasn’t anything there. For the first time in his life since he’d bonded with his dragon, Jazzmaryth, he reached for magic that wasn’t there. He tried to feel for any dwindling powers he might have retained after his latest battle with Merglan, but he couldn’t sense them. His eyes darted back and forth, and he began to panic. Straining, he tried desperately through his aching mind to sense something, anything. He thought he might at least feel Merglan’s presence as he stood directly in front of him, but he couldn’t; there was nothing. Ivan looked down at his hands in horror, the realization hitting him in the gut like a steel fist.
Merglan stepped closer and knelt to Ivan’s level.
Ivan glanced at him, hatred for Merglan welling inside him. “What have you done to me?” he asked through trembling cheeks.
Merglan laced his fingers together, resting his forearms around his knees as he squatted, “I haven’t done anything to harm you, my dear old friend. On the contrary, actually. I plan to restore you.”
Ivan narrowed his eyes, “What are you talking about?”
Rising, Merglan said, “Ivan, you were trying to kill us. You would’ve succeeded in killing yourself if I hadn’t stopped you.” Merglan stepped past Ivan to the window and peered out at the courtyard. “That spell you were trying to conjure up was far beyond your capabilities, but you already knew that, didn’t you? You were exhausted from our mental struggle, which was truly impressive by the way, the fact that you were even able to accomplish that without Jazz and all. I’m surprised you could still perform any magic at all.”
Ivan slammed his fist against the ground, drawing Merglan’s attention, “Damn it, Merg! What did you do to me?”
“You always did have a short fuse,” Merglan replied as he folded his arms across his chest and sat down on the open windowsill.
Ivan stood, turning to face his enemy, jaw clenched and ready to assault him.
Ivan saw Merglan raise an eyebrow at him, then return his gaze to the courtyard below, “I saved you from yourself, Ivan. You were dying. I almost let you, but at the last moment when you were slipping into the void, I broke into your mind and stopped the spell you were about to finish.” He turned to face Ivan and continued, “Luckily, you hadn’t gotten very far in casting the spell because you were so weak.” Rising to his feet again, Merglan stepped closer to Ivan, “You were broken. Basically worthless. Killdoor and I repaired you. We brought your body back. I thought you would feel more comfortable waking here in your old room. I even left you a little gift.” Merglan nodded toward the chair directly behind Ivan.
Ivan knew what he was referring to without having to look. The box. “What is it?”
Merglan stepped around him, letting his stare linger longer. “Why don’t you open it and find out,” he said, pulling the chairs out from the table with a snap of his fingers. Merglan sat down. Ivan glared suspiciously at him as he gestured to Ivan to take the other seat. Ivan hated that he was in the same room with his nemesis and didn’t have a way to attack him.
At every other breath, Ivan searched for his magic, but it really was gone. His mind simply drew on blank space and emptiness. Fingering for the sword that had been at his waist when they’d come to the castle from the battle, he felt nothing at his side. Of course Merglan had taken that, too. He was unarmed and his mind was broken. He should’ve been dead, but Merglan even stopped that from happening. Ivan thought about trying to strangle Merglan, but the sorcerer would only have to wave his finger and Ivan would be rendered useless.
Ivan stepped warily around to the chair, lifted the box from its leather upholstery and sat. He set the box on the table between them.
“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” Merglan asked with a slight, almost snarling smile.
Ivan leaned back in the chair, shaking his head.
Merglan glanced at the box, then leaned forward, eyeing the chessboard on the table. “No? Okay. I thought it was worth a try. How about a game instead?” Merglan said, moving a pawn forward.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ivan asked, shaking his head.
Merglan frowned, “You used to love this game.”
“Can’t you have a real conversation with me for once?” Ivan asked irritated, leaning forward. “Why do you always have to do things through games and metaphors? Why can’t you just talk to me straight?”
Merglan didn’t lift his eyes from the table, “It’s your move.”
Ivan slumped back into the chair, “Merg, I really don’t want to play right now.”
Merglan narrowed his eyes, “Don’t you miss this, Will? We were pals, best buds. We were going to rule the kingdom together. What happened to us?”
Ivan’s forehead creased, he couldn’t believe Merglan would ask such a thing. “What do you mean, what happened? You came after me and Hannah with magic. You killed her and my oldest child! You took Jazz, my father, my brother-in-law and so many bonded riders. Do you even feel anything anymore?!” Ivan studied Merglan’s blank expression, then continued, “And you ask me what happened? You killed your own father!”
“Oh, that was ages ago. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones,” Merglan said. “I was a different person back then. And you weren’t in the right headspace to see things clearly either. Let’s just start over, shall we? We can start by playing this friendly little game,” Merglan leaned down over his white chess pieces.
Ivan grabbed the table and tossed it aside, sending the wooden box and chess pieces flying. Merglan bolted from his chair, waving his arm and freezing the mess in midair. The room grew dark and a strong wind began to blow in through the window. Merglan’s eyes glowed with an anger Ivan had never seen before.
As abruptly as he’d started to unravel, Merglan regained control over himself. The wind stilled and the bright light of day returned in the window. He calmly returned the table to its original place and arranged the box and pieces as they had been. Straightening his shirt and pants, Merglan cleared his throat and said calmly, “I know it may take time for us to become reacquainted, but I believe we’ll get there. It seems as though you don’t wish to be with me at present, which is understandable given that we’ve just experienced a traumatic event together, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Merglan strode from the room, exiting successfully through the door that had sent Ivan back into the room.
Ivan’s nostrils flared in frustration. He tried to summon energy, anything from his decreased magical abilities, but nothing came. Shouting, he flipped the table over watching the chess pieces crash onto the floor. He pushed himself from the chair and hobbled angrily to the window trying to discern his invisible prison bars.
***
Merglan exited Ivan’s room, breaking through the magical barriers he’d installed. He strode down the torch-lit hall. Descending the stairs, he walked out onto the main floor and turned sharply, entering the throne room. Striding confidently to the iconic chair, he recalled the day he’d first taken the throne, the day he’d killed the king. With a flick of his wrist, the crown came whirling onto his head as he sat.
Not a moment passed from the instant he leaned back into the throne to when the doors swung inward and an orc entered. Clad in armor and grimy from battle, the creature came into the room alone.
Merglan’s jaw dropped. Irritated at the orcs’ overall refusal to follow orders and use the chain of command, Merglan rose from the throne to ensure that his voice sounded full and more authoritative. He commanded, “What are you doing here? Have you no respect for your Commanding Officer?”
The orc began to speak in Grog, a wormy language full of hard clicks and sharp grunts. Merglan could speak it well enough, but the language sounded so awful. He hated it. He cut the orc off by pinching his fingers together, magically closing its mouth.
“Speak Landish, or die,” Merglan said, stepping toward the orc and raising his hands as if to throw a spell on the creature. The orc stepped back, its lower lip quivered, exposing the lower tusks.
Speaking slowly and in a thick accent, the orc began to explain, “Forgiveness, my Lord. I bring news of the battle.”
Merglan returned to his seat on the throne, deciding he wouldn’t kill this creature, yet. “Why are you reporting this to me and not your commander?” he demanded.
“Our battle chief has been slain, your Excellency,” the orc said in a higher-pitched tone.
Merglan shifted. Surely this creature wasn’t telling him that his battle was lost and his appointed leader killed. There had been thousands of orcs massing on the eastern coast. “The death of your orc chief doesn’t deserve my consult, that’s why I have Lageena in charge of you filth. And you can address me as your Imperial Highness now.”
“Sorry, my Imperial Highness, but you misunderstood my meaning. Lageena is dead. She was killed in one-on-one combat with the elf prince.”
Merglan flung himself from the throne and onto the orc, who now crouched in fear. He kicked the creature in the shoulder guard and sent it skidding across the throne room floor. He sprung, leaping high into the air with inhuman skill and drew his knife from his belt. As he crashed onto the orc, Merglan held the sharpened steel against the creature’s face. Lowering himself to inches above the orc, he snarled, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll gut you.”
The orc, a female Merglan now realized having come close enough to see her defining cheek markings, stammered in her native language.
Merglan roared at her, “Landish, you insolent grunt, speak Landish!” he pressed the knife blade against her cheek, drawing the orc’s dark blood.
“I swear it, Imperial Highness. I saw it with my own eyes. She’s dead. A dwarf stabbed her through the heart with a burning blade.”
Merglan narrowed his eyes, lifting the blade slightly, “By a dwarf? I thought you said it was the elf prince?”
She mumbled, “It was a dwarf that killed her.”
Merglan pulled back and punched the orc in the face, knocking her to the ground, her head bouncing off the stone floor. “Get your story straight! If you and your orc friends think you can pull one over on me by telling me that Lageena’s been killed, then you’re wrong. Did you come here to coax me out so your orc friends could try to take me on? Is that your plan!?” he shouted, lifting the orc by her armor and shaking her furiously.
“Honest!” she cried out. “Lageena’s dead. In one-on-one combat with the elf, but sneakily killed by the dwarf!”
Merglan stopped shaking the orc and released her. “Are there more of you outside?” he asked.
She nodded.
He marched from the throne room and into the entrance hall, dragging her along by the armor. Throwing open the heavy castle door, he stood in the entrance and stared out at a group of messenger orcs. They had carted Lageena’s dead body from the battle site. Merglan spotted it at once. Releasing the orc, Merglan stared at them, breathing heavily. He watched Killdoor circle in and land on the castle’s outer wall, eyeing the orcs in the courtyard.
Merglan turned to the nervous orcs and shouted, “This is what happens to anyone who enters my throne room unannounced!” With that he pulled back and thrust his knife into the female orc’s temple, letting her drop heavily to her knees. He turned his attention to Killdoor and commanded, “Devour her,” as he kicked the orc messenger down the steps.
Her body rolled onto the courtyard. In an instant, Killdoor leapt off the wall and glided down to the castle’s front steps. After charring the body with dragon fire, he lowered his head and crunched into the steel-plated armor. He then took the orc into his mouth and flew up to his roost on the outer wall. The other orcs gawked until Merglan shouted at them, “Gather your forces and bring them to the city gates! You’ll be needing a new commander.”
Merglan spun on his heels, the crown on his head nearly tumbling off. He entered the keep and slammed the doors behind him. Swelling with rage, he stomped to the throne and took his perch, pondering on how the death of Lageena would affect his plans.