Sword at the ready and shield before him, Tomas entered the room first. Pug followed with Miranda and Nakor.
As soon as they entered the old baronial great hall, it was as if they had stepped into anther world. The hall reeked of death and the floors were stained with blood. Skulls and bones were scattered around the room, and a faint haze darkened the air. Torches burned in sconces, their light angry and red, as if something had sucked the light out of the flames.
Men who were no longer human stood on either side of the great hall. Their eyes were glowing jewels of luminous red, their muscles unnaturally enlarged and straining at the skin. They all wore facial scars and expressions of madness. Some twitched and others drooled, and they all had mystic tattoos covering their upper bodies. Some carried double-bladed axes and others had swords and buckler shields.
They seemed poised to attack, yet appeared to be waiting upon something. The great vaulted windows of the room had been painted in red and black, passing only the faintest illumination from outside. The runes upon them were alien and repugnant to view.
Nakor glanced from window to window. “These are wrong,” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” asked Miranda.
“Whoever painted those is trying to do something very . . . very bad. But they didn’t do it . . . correctly.”
“How do you know?” asked Tomas, holding his sword ready and watching first one side then the other as he advanced slowly up the center of the room.
“Years of sleeping on the Codex of Wodar-Hospur . . . I remember things when I need to know them. If I thought about that too much, it might make me upset.”
As they crossed the hall, they confronted a figure on the right-hand side of the baronial throne that caused them all to pause. It was clearly not human. It looked roughly human, though its skin had a pale blue tinge. Upon its back large wings with brilliant white feathers sprouted. On the left-hand side of the throne stood a man, dressed in black robes with runes embroidered upon them. He had a silver collar around his neck.
Sitting on the throne was an old warrior, still strong-looking despite his age. His grey-shot hair was cut short, though he retained the long fall common to those who had chosen to serve dark powers. And upon his cheeks the ritual scars clearly showed.
He regarded the four intruders with a wary gaze and said, “One of you must be the magician named Pug.”
Pug stepped forward and said, “I am Pug.”
“I was warned that eventually you would be troubling me.”
“You are General Fadawah,” said Pug.
“King Fadawah!” said the man with an anger that didn’t mask his fear.
Nakor said, “Your claim to that title seems to be at the root of our dispute.”
Fadawah’s eyes drifted to Tomas, and he said, “What is that?”
Tomas said, “I am Tomas, Warleader of Elvandar.”
The being to Fadawah’s left smiled. His features were cruel and evil, despite being stunningly beautiful, and twice as terrifying for that beauty: a high brow framed in golden ringlets, a straight regal nose. The mouth was full, sensual, and the eyes were a pale blue. His body looked powerful, heavily muscled, and there was an aura of danger about him even as he sat motionless.
He spoke and the room rang with despair upon every word. “The Valheru!” he said. The creature stepped forward and said, “Stand aside, Your Majesty.”
Fadawah stood up and moved behind the other man, who silently watched the exchange.
Crossing to stand before Tomas, the entity was his equal in stature. The creature’s voice boomed out in laughter. “Long have I ached to face one of the Dragon Host,” he said. Suddenly he lashed out with his bare fist, striking Tomas’s shield. Tomas flew back across the room, and the dozens of guards who had stood motionless erupted into action.
Miranda reacted before either Nakor or Pug. She spun full circle, her hand held palm downward, and spoke a word of power: a diamond of energy flew from her hand, shrieking through the air to strike the wall behind one of the warriors. It ricocheted off the wall and struck another warrior in the back. Like the finest blade slicing butter, it cut the man in half. Across the room it flew, as Miranda shouted to Tomas, “Stay down!”
Pug ignored Miranda’s destructive energy blade and turned to face the monster. Pug made a single motion, both hands circling like an open-handed fighting monk’s. But rather than striking a blow, he pulled both hands back before his chest and shouted a word. A single blast of energy came from both his hands, invisible but parting the air like a thousand fists. The winged creature was physically picked up and slammed back into the throne. Fadawah and the man with the silver collar both jumped away, to avoid being struck by the thing’s wing.
Nakor ran forward, as if to attack, but rather than strike with his staff, he confronted the being. “What are you?” he demanded.