The warlock screamed in fright, now turning his considerable strength to fighting off Gwendolyn’s control. Offendorl knew that the warlock feared fire, so he used it to frighten more than harm the man. The warlock shrank back into his cell, the magical grip loosening on Offendorl. The elder wizard felt his magic burning inside him. It was hot, but not too difficult to handle yet. Unfortunately, he had a long way to climb before he faced Gwendolyn and her warlock sister Andomina. But he knew their weakness too, and he would defeat them, of that he was certain.
* * *
The soldiers jogged forward. Occasionally an arrow would streak down from the walls, but none penetrated the oversized shields that the first rank of soldiers were carrying. The second rank stayed close to the first and the big warriors lifted the shields so that only their legs were exposed, while the shields protected their vital organs and the men behind them. The open plain should have been a killing ground, easily defended by the soldier’s on the walls, but the terror of the great black dragon was overwhelming.
When the soldiers’ reached the gatehouse, they leaned their ladders against the tall structure. The gatehouse was made from massive stone blocks that were smooth on the outside. The gates themselves were wooden, made from heavy oak timber imported from Yelsia, bound together with thick iron plates and hung on massive hinges. Normally the gates never closed-the Grand City was a constant hive of activity with people coming and going at all hours-but now the gates were closed. It was up to the soldiers to scale the ladders, fight through any resistance, and unlock the massive gates so that the invaders could gain entry to the city.
King Zorlan knew that, under normal circumstances, if his forces managed to breach the outer walls, the defenders would fall back to the next series of walls within the city. The Grand City was almost like a patchwork quilt, with each new section of the city being surrounded by more walls. If the Grand City had been well defended, it would have taken a much larger army months to fight through the city to the elegant castle at its center. But Zorlan wasn’t facing a well-defended city, and his goal wasn’t to reach the castle. In time, he would ascend the Oslan throne, but for now, while the dragon attacked the defenders, Zorlan only wanted a foothold on the city. It would make his offer to the Ortisans seem more generous.
King Zorlan watched his troops from the saddle of the black horse he rode on. Unlike the massive destriers of the north, Falxisian horses were slender, faster, and more graceful. They were trained for endurance and speed, not to carry heavily armored knights. Still, Zorlan’s mount was tall and muscular, completely black, and very spirited. But the dragon was making the horse nervous and it stomped the dust, wanting to turn and run, causing Zorlan to focus more on controlling the beast than observing the battle before him.
“My lord, more dragons,” a general said in alarm.
Zorlan looked up in surprise as three dragons streaked toward the gatehouse.
* * *
Offendorl was nearly impaled by a soldier on the fourth landing. The man had hidden behind a thick wooden support beam and lashed out at Offendorl just as the elder wizard passed. Luckily for Offendorl, he had a magical shield in place around him that stopped the steel tip of the spear, but the powerful thrust knocked the ancient wizard off balance. Two more soldiers rushed forward and a fourth fired an arrow from a bow. The arrow glanced off Offendorl’s invisible shield and ricocheted into the first soldier, who screamed as he clutched his belly and toppled down the stairs.
The other soldiers were unfazed by their comrade’s demise. Their queen had ordered them to kill, and the jealous rage that simmered just beneath their control had blossomed into full-blown blood lust. With a thought, Offendorl knocked the two soldiers rushing toward him together with such force their skulls were smashed. The soldiers dropped dead at Offendorl’s feet.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He knew that staying calm and retaining as much strength as possible was paramount in his plan to defeat Gwendolyn. It was tempting to rush to the top of the tower to confront her, but he needed to slow down. The sorceress wasn’t going anywhere, and the smoke that was beginning to fill the air in the tower made it evident that the dragon’s work had done it’s job. Offendorl had to stop himself from falling into despair over the loss of his precious books. His only hope where that was concerned was that Gwendolyn might possibly save at least a portion of his library.
The soldier with the bow had slipped away, almost certainly hoping to catch Offendorl on the floors above. Most of the warlocks in the tower were below him now. In fact, most were kept in the dungeon-like cells below ground. Only the less dangerous warlocks were allowed to occupy the upper floors. And soon Offendorl would be among the alchemists, who would pose no real threat. They spent their days tinkering in workshops, trying to perfect methods of transmuting simple objects such as lead or brass into gold, silver, or steel that was both stronger and lighter than that made by blacksmiths in their smoking furnaces. They documented their progress, but their work was never shared outside the Torr. Of course, Offendorl could transmute almost any substance, but the alchemists studied not only for the outcome, but also the process. Offendorl’s power came from knowing how things worked, so he had filled the tower with magic users who could increase his knowledge.
It pained the elder wizard to know that their research could be lost too, if Gwendolyn didn’t get the fires under control. At the next floor, he found two men waiting for him. They stood blocking the path to the stairs, their eyes closed and a massive magical shield protecting them.
“So,” Offendorl said out loud. “Gwendolyn has changed her tactics. I know you can hear me, witch.” He spat the last word with as much contempt as he could muster. “I will pull this tower down from beneath you if I must, but you shall not take my place.”
One of the warlocks spoke, his voice deep, but the words came from Gwendolyn high above.
“Don’t test me, master,” the warlock said. “I have become even more powerful than you. But I must admit, the dragon is a nice touch.”
“You won’t think so when you are roasting in the flames of the beast’s fiery breath.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be surprised at what I’m thinking. You’ll find out once you get here, but I doubt even you will be able to get past my defenses easily.”
“You underestimate my power at your peril,” Offendorl warned.
“And you have underestimated mine for the last time, old man!” the warlock shouted, the rage in his voice carried through from Gwendolyn’s hatred of her master.
There was a deafening crack, then a huge segment of the ceiling above Offendorl fell. The floors in the tower were made with paving stones, several inches thick and supported by a wooden subfloor that was reinforced by massive wooden beams. The warlocks retreated up the stairs as the ceiling dropped onto the elder wizard. Stones, heavy timber, stacks of lead and gold, and furniture all rained down. The weight dropped on Offendorl before he could react.
His magical shield protected him from being harmed, but he was buried in the heavy rubble.
Dust filled the air above the rubble, and then, before Offendorl could cast off the debris that covered him, the floor he was on collapsed. Floor after floor fell, the rubble and debris growing while the elder wizard tumbled downward, completely out of control. When the destruction was over, the lower floors of the tower were gone; only the stone staircase spiraling up the thick stone walls of the tower was still in place. And Offendorl was nowhere to be seen.