It was the frantic sound of someone digging through the debris. Offendorl felt fear at first, as he remembered that Gwendolyn had turned her warlocks against him. But then he realized that Gwendolyn would have moved the debris with magic. The sound, coming nearer and nearer to Offendorl, was the frantic work of a non-magical person. He could hear grunts of effort as the person moved the debris, piece by piece.
Then, last of all, sight returned to the elder wizard. Light appeared in the darkness, tiny shafts poked down into the jumbled mess around Offendorl. He moaned and tried to move. The weight on top of him shifted a little, and the sounds grew closer.
“You’re alive?” a voice said.
It was Havina, and Offendorl felt relief flooding through him. She had come to his rescue. He knew he only needed time to regain his strength. Gwendolyn wasn’t stronger than he was-she had only tricked him. His magical shield had protected the elder wizard, but now he needed time to regroup. Hatred for the sorceress was like ashes in Offendorl’s mouth. He hated the thought that she had gotten the better of him, even for an instant. He would make her suffer in ways that no one had ever suffered, he swore to himself.
“Here,” he said. “I am here, Havina.”
She continued digging, and soon he could see her. She stood over him, staring down, the sun shining into the tower through a high window so brightly that she was just a silhouette, a living shadow above him. She reached down and he raised his arm, but she didn’t take his hand to pull him up. Instead, she began feeling his body. At first he thought perhaps she checking to see if he was injured, but then her hand groped inside the pouch at his hip and pulled free the gold circlet with Bartoom’s name inscribed.
“What are you doing?” he asked in total surprise.
But Havina didn’t answer-she turned and ran from the tower. Only then did Offendorl realize that he had fallen prey to the young woman’s true intentions. Her loyalty was to power, and although he knew he wasn’t defeated, it made sense that Havina would believe that he was. So she had cast him aside and taken the golden crown. He wasn’t sure how she would be able to use the circlet to control Bartoom. She had no magical power, but his studies revealed that non-magical kings had controlled dragons in ages past, so he guessed it was possible.
For a moment a tenderness he had not expected rose up inside him. Havina had left him, but he couldn’t blame her for that. It was, after all, that same lust for power that had driven her to take care of his every need and follow him to the Grand City. Then anger erupted inside Offendorl, first at himself for being so emotionally tied to the young woman. He had cast off such mortal concerns long ago-and for good reason, the elder wizard remembered. Then, his anger turned to Havina. The young woman had gotten the upper hand, but not for long, he vowed. Once he had settled his business with Gwendolyn and Zollin, he would make it his life’s work to track her down and show her the meaning of true power. The anger stirred the weak magic inside him, prompting him to find a way to get back on his feet.
He pushed his anger for Havina aside. Gwendolyn would not hesitate to slay him in his weakened state. He rose slowly, realizing that the pile of debris was heaped up around him and very unstable. The last thing he needed was to fall and break a bone on the wreckage around him. He summoned his power, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands that kept seeping through his fingers. He tried to levitate himself clear of the wreckage, but he was only able to lift himself a few feet and then pain shot through his chest. He felt like a stone had crashed onto him and was squeezing the life out of him. He struggled to breathe and then dropped to his knees as his vision began to fade.
He thought perhaps it was the dust from the debris that was hindering his breathing, and so he crawled outside. The wreckage cut his hands and knees, but the pain was minor compared to the weight on his chest. He gasped, trying desperately to fill his lungs, but the effort was futile. His ears began to ring again, and then he felt the world tilt and he fell to the ground unconscious.
* * *
“Send in the next wave,” King Zorlan ordered. He had been appalled when Zollin and the girl appeared. Zorlan remembered the wizard from Orrock. He recognized the young man’s lanky frame even from a distance. He was not surprised when Zollin swept his first wave of soldiers from the gatehouse, but the king was undeterred.
“Tell them to wait until the wizard moves on from the gatehouse, then attack,” he instructed.
“Aye, my lord,” said the general, who passed on the order.
King Zorlan watched as the second wave of shield barriers and ladder carriers hurried forward. The appearance of more dragons and the wizard from Yelsia was disturbing. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but Zollin’s attack on his men seemed almost like an afterthought. The dragons were fighting each other, and then, to King Zorlan’s relief, Zollin and his companion flew up toward the tower.
The king almost danced with glee. The wizard was here to face the witch, not his invasion force. It was almost too good to be true. Once the Yelsian wizard had dealt with the witch, there would be no stopping King Zorlan from expanding his empire. Falxis would incorporate the kingdoms of Ortis and Osla. He was the only king left in the three kingdoms. The wizard would not be able to stop Zorlan’s rise to power.
He watched with satisfaction as his troops moved to the gatehouse unchallenged. They raised scaling ladders and ascended to the top of the gatehouse easily. Then they disappeared on the far side. The Grand City wasn’t built in exact circles, so Zorlan wouldn’t be able to circle around and open the southern gate without fighting through the troops that were still stationed on the city’s outer walls. Still, by taking a strong position in the city, the Ortisan troops would be forced to fight, retreat, or surrender.
“Send a full legion forward,” King Zorlan commanded. “I want commanders with me. We will take position on top of the guardhouse. Move out!”
Around him the army began to move. Troops that had been spread out around the city were now returning to King Zorlan’s position. He knew it would take hours to get his troops back together and prepared to make a major push into the city, but he had at least three centuries of soldiers to hold the gatehouse. It was more than enough to give them a foothold on the city.
“Sire, are you sure the gatehouse is the safest place for you?” said one of Zorlan’s generals.
“You don’t win wars by being safe, general,” Zorlan said. “The gatehouse will give us a view of the city’s walls. We need to be able to see what the enemy is doing. It will also stand as a symbol of our impending victory. When we hold the gates to the city, nothing can stop us.”
“But sire, there are dragons.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, but the beasts seem content to battle each other.” They were almost forced to shout over the horrific roars of the dragons. It was impossible to forget the mythic beasts were at war with each other somewhere inside the Grand City.
They rode forward and watched as the troops strained to open the massive wooden gates. Zorlan guessed that oxen or teams of horses were used to swing the gigantic structures when they were opened or closed. His men were straining to swing open just one of the massive doors. It creaked on the massive iron hinges as it opened. Troops in front of the small group of officers hurried forward to help.
Zorlan savored the moment as he rode through the city gate. Victory, he decided, was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He climbed down off his horse and handed the reins to a soldier who stood nearby. Just inside the city gate was a large open area, wider than the broad street that led into the city. There were houses and shops nearby, but the area around the gate had been cleared so that soldiers could hold their ground and repulse any invaders who made it through the gate.