“King Belphan shall hear of this,” said a skinny little girl. Her mother was trying to force her to sit back down.
“No he won’t,” Offendorl said kindly, smiling almost benevolently. “You’re a brave little girl, but I’m afraid the king is dead.”
“No he isn’t,” the girl shouted angrily as her mother pulled her back down onto the bench where her family was sitting.
“You say the king’s dead?” a man nearby asked.
“That’s right.”
“And how do you know that he’s dead?” someone else asked.
“Because I killed him,” Offendorl said menacingly.
There was a collective intake of breath. Offendorl wasn’t surprised. He doubted if Belphan had ever even heard of Castlebury, much less cared about its inhabitants, but many people idolized their king, even if he was a cruel and careless ruler.
“No,” screamed the little girl, who had pulled away from her mother.
“Cute girl,” Offendorl said, “but sadly lacking in manners.”
He waved his hand again and the girl went rigid, falling over onto her side. She screamed a high, piercing wail that brought the men of the town to their feet. Many of the women were weeping. The girl’s back began to arch and she was crying out for it to stop, but she couldn’t control herself.
“Stop it!” screamed her father, who was a small man, but livid with rage. “Stop hurting my little girl or I’ll kill you.”
“Unwavering obedience,” Offendorl shouted over the voices in the inn.
There was a pop, like the sound of damp wood burning, then the little girl died, her back broken.
“No!” screamed the girl’s mother.
“Bastard!” shouted the girl’s father, who rushed forward with a small knife in his hand. Offendorl didn’t move, but the man went flying into the thick ceiling beams so hard his skull was smashed. Another man drew a thick Hax knife, which was more tool than weapon, but still a deadly instrument. He tried to ease closer to Offendorl, but the elder wizard lashed out with stream of fire that engulfed the man and severely burned several others around him. The man on fire flailed about for a few seconds, screaming uncontrollably before finally collapsing. The smell of burning flesh was sickening and several people vomited.
Offendorl tilted his head and looked at the villagers questioningly.
“Do we have an understanding?” he asked.
The men nodded.
“Good. Return to your homes,” Offendorl said. “But the women stay. I’ll need them to look after my needs. I assure you no harm will come to them if they do as they are told.”
“They aren’t staying here with a monster like you,” said a young man who was shielding his young wife with his own body.
“Don’t worry, their virtue is safe-although you won’t be able to enjoy it,” Offendorl said.
“Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!” the young man screamed as he grabbed his groin and doubled over in pain.
“Stop!” shouted his young wife. “Please, he didn’t mean it.”
“He may not have, but I do,” Offendorl said. “I will maim the people you love, and kill anyone who does not obey me fully. I am the master of the Torr, Wizard of the Five Kingdoms. Do not try me. I have no patience for your futile attempts at resistance.” His voice had turned cold and dangerous. His face wrinkled with undisguised contempt for the villagers. “I have no empathy for your weak, pathetic lives. Do as I say, remain silent, and perhaps you may live. I shall not be denied. Do you understand?”
The villagers all nodded. Some kissed their wives, although most of the villagers had come alone and there were less than a dozen women in the entire group. The young man who had spoken out was carried out of the inn, still crying about the pain in his groin, which was beginning to swell.
“Clean,” Offendorl ordered the women. “And you,” he pointed to the young woman. “Bring me pillows for my seat.”
Everyone got busy, except for the woman whose daughter Offendorl had killed. She was kneeling over her daughter’s body, sobbing uncontrollably. Offendorl reached out with his magic and punctured the woman’s heart. It was a small effort, but the woman collapsed on top of her daughter, killed instantly.
The inn now smelled of burned flesh, vomit, and offal. Offendorl stepped outside. The night was muggy and uncomfortable. Other parts of Osla were relatively dry and cooled dramatically once the sun set, but along the Euradies basin the air seemed saturated and held the day’s intense heat long after dark. There were mosquitos as well-swarms of them near the river.
Offendorl walked slowly up toward the ruins of the castle on the hill. He was sweating by the time he reached the summit, but he felt more at home among the ruins than in the small village. It had been ages since he’d exerted his power onto people in such a direct way. He’d had very little contact with most non-magic-users. Only kings and their most trusted advisors ever bothered him in the tower. Now his rage had been unleashed on the people of the village, and he savored the feeling of power and strength. Subduing the village had been child’s play for a wizard of his power, but it still felt good to feel powerful again.
His magical strength had been slow to return and it was taking a dreadful toll on his body. His eyes were sunken and his skin had begun to wrinkle in earnest. Offendorl was not a vain man when it came to his appearance, but he had resisted the signs of aging as he renewed his physical body. Now, however, he was beginning to look as ancient as he felt.
He let his magic flow, pulling the small, thin crown from the velvet bag he kept tied to his thick, leather belt and placing it on his head. He reached out and made contact with Bartoom. The black dragon was close, although it had flown out to sea and was now making its way down the coast. Offendorl had ordered it to fly south almost a week ago, but the dragon had been attacked. The elder wizard was shocked to learn of so many dragons, and of the girl who flew with them. He seemed to remember stories about humans who rode dragons and were impervious to fire, but he couldn’t be sure. His vast knowledge was eroding like a riverbank in a heavy storm. The toll on his body had affected his mind as well, and he found small details slipping his mind more and more often.
He needed time to rest and to return to his home in the tower of the Torr, where his vast library was kept. Once he had his books around him again, he was sure he could restore not only his physical health, but his memory as well. Still, the missing bits of information hurt him-he knew that. Knowledge was the key to his power, and a pride of dragons was a threat he could not contain. He had thought of trying to woo the dragons, the way he had Bartoom, using his magic to coax the beast to come to him. But he knew he would need to learn each of the dragons names to control them, and not even the great wizards or kings of old had dominated entire prides.
Offendorl knew there were major fights coming. He would have to help Bartoom kill the other dragons, or at least drive them away. Once that was done, he would turn his attention to the Torr and cast the sorceress Gwendolyn down. He would make the upstart witch’s sister his plaything. Andomina was Gwendolyn’s weakness, and Offendorl knew he could exploit it.
Once everything in the tower had been set right, Offendorl would turn his attention back to Zollin. He knew the young wizard was coming south. Bartoom had fought the boy at sea and then seen him again not far from Cape Sumbar. But Zollin would have to wait-as dangerous a threat as he was-until Offendorl had regained his advantage. He would not make the same mistake he had made in Orrock, underestimating Zollin’s growing power and facing him on the open field of battle. No, he would have to make a special plan for Zollin, ensuring that the odds were all in favor of the master.
Offendorl smiled at the thought of seeing Zollin kneeling before him, pledging his magic, his loyalty, and his life to the Torr. He vowed silently to himself to make that thought a reality. Then he ordered Bartoom to come to Castlebury. Finally he turned and walked slowly down the hill. His display of magic had weakened Offendorl, and he would have preferred to rest immediately. But the mess inside the inn was simply too great to endure, and besides, he needed to avoid any appearance of weakness to the people around him. Still, his legs were trembling slightly when he returned to the inn. It was nothing a good meal and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure, but it left him wondering if he was up to the challenges ahead. He needed loyal servants who would see to his every need.