Delver Magic II: Throne of Vengeance by Jeff Inlo (interesting books to read txt) 📕

“But you don’t know if he’ll do anything about it,” Sy finished.

“I don’t know if he can,” Ryson added. “Petiole’s got control of the elf guard. As long as they back him, he remains in power, a little dictator given control because he’s the eldest.”

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Sy replied. “I wonder myself what’s going to happen out there. I really appreciated having the elves here. They helped us more than I could have hoped, but with what I’ve heard of this Petiole character, you just don’t know.”

“I wish Mappel were still there,” Ryson admitted.

Sy never met Mappel, though he heard of the deceased elf’s abilities. He knew good leaders were hard to find, even harder to replace. And he knew Petiole was not a close substitute. “I guess that’s how the elves feel. Well, it’s their problem. They seem pretty straightforward thinkers. I’m sure they’ll find a way to do what’s right. What else’s got you worried?”

Ryson groaned. “Name it. The serp out there in the hills with all that dwarf gold is going to use it against us. I think that’s a certainty. Then, there’s the algors. They sent out the sand giants to destroy Dunop. I have no idea what will happen if they find out the cliff behemoths destroyed their creations. If they hear the whole truth, they’ll probably be satisfied. The dwarves suffered a whole lot of casualties. There’s nothing left of their army. And speaking of the dwarves, I left Dunop with Jon basically comatose and no other leader in sight. And then there’s Yave. I have no idea where she went, but I know she wasn’t happy, or ready to just forget everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Yave,” Sy advised. “If things happened the way you told me, she’s got nothing left to attack us with. She’s on her own.”

#

Yave retraced the steps of the sand giants that attacked her home. She moved through underground passages grumbling in half-sentences and cursing in muttered snarls. She moved westward in tunnels which stretched below the Lacobian desert. She could not feel the heat, for she was far below the surface, but an image of her final destination etched itself in her mind, residue from her encounter with the Sword of Decree.

Somewhere below a point of pure desolation, she began her ascent to the surface. The dethroned queen savagely ripped at the soft ground, ripped through soil with her powerful, bare hands. Rock and dirt slowly gave way to sand, and her momentum increased. She shoved the sediment behind her as she pressed her face forward into the darkness of her handmade tunnel. Sand filled the rolls of her royal garb, granules spilled into her mouth and eyes. She ignored the stinging pain and the dry, bitter taste. She broke through to the surface with an indignant shout of conquest. She pulled herself to her feet not bothering to brush the caked sand from her person. Her eyes turned to the south. In the far distance, she spied a small oasis, a plot of life in this barren hell which she already knew existed.

She labored through the sand, trudging across the desert, moving more out of bitter determination than anything else. The light burned her eyes, the desert sun clouded her vision. The damage was permanent, but she ignored her pain as well as her dwindling sight. She moved from a memory, a slice of knowledge placed in her brain.

The Sword of Decree had showed her all that had occurred in Sanctum. She saw her son die, but she saw other events as well. She saw a sorceress, a human woman that was also in Sanctum. The sorceress took the name Tabris, and at the time of the sphere, she didn’t want to be a magic caster, but the damned delver forced his will upon her. Now, the sorceress had power, power to help Yave defeat all who opposed the sanctity of Tun’s memory. The human woman dwelled in this portion of the desert, she had created this oasis. The sword had given the dwarf queen that knowledge as well.

Tabris stood at the edge of a small pond, a collection of fresh water created by her many spells of storms and squalls. Vegetation was thick here, coaxed to life by the moisture as well as her magic. She could not control nature with the same power she controlled the storms, but her magic was enough to grow fruit trees in the middle of a lifeless desert. She did not expect Yave’s arrival, but she noticed the lonely traveler before the dwarf entered the oasis. She continued to soak in the magic surrounding her as she greeted her visitor.

“You are lost, dwarf.” The sorceress spoke plainly and without joy in seeing a visitor or anger in confronting a trespasser. The dwarf queen’s presence meant little to her, an oddity to be sure, but nothing that truly evoked a meaningful response from the sorceress.

Yave could barely see the outline of the taller woman before her. Though her vision was aided by the existence of shade trees, she still had to squint out the bright light. She showed no sign of welcoming the cooler temperatures of the oasis. Her personal comfort was immaterial; her quest for justice was her only desire.

“I am not lost,” Yave spouted like a drunkard finding an unattended bar. “I came to see you. You are Tabris, the sorceress that entered Sanctum.”

Tabris looked deeply into the mind of the dwarf. The exiled queen was easy to read. Yave’s emotions burst like fireworks on a clear, dark night. Her desires flared like hungry flames burning dry wood. “And you are Yave, mother of the deceased Tun Folarok. What would you have me do, dwarf? Use my power against the delver, strike out at the elves of Dark Spruce, and then finish the algors? Is that what you wish? I do not hold to your beliefs.”

Yave grunted as her hatred deepened. “You did not want to be a sorceress,” she hissed. “The delver forced you into this. You must desire justice for your own sake.”

“I have not yet decided on that,” Tabris announced. “My path is not chosen as of yet. My choices in Sanctum have not led to a conclusion.”

“My path is concluded!” Yave bellowed. “I need your help!”

Tabris looked upon the dwarf apathetically. “As I have already asked, what would you have me do? I will not attack, not on this day anyway.”

Yave grimaced. “Loose your energies upon me. Give me the power to attack. If you do not seek justice, at least do not hinder one who does.”

Tabris barely acknowledged the request. Her thoughts began to drift to other matters. She considered the alteration and expansion of her known spells. The dwarf queen was simply not of great importance. She was more of a gnat buzzing at her ear. The sorceress answered with casual disregard. “I gain nothing in such an action. Your purpose is not of my concern.”

“What is it you want from me, witch?” Yave demanded. “What must I pay? Name your price.”

“You have nothing to offer,” Tabris responded.

Yave heaved in frustration. Her teeth ground together as she clamored for attention. “There must be something. There are gems where I come from, stones which can hold magic. There are weapons for your enchantment, metals and stone to build a suitable palace.”

“I need no such items,” Tabris replied with her mind on other thoughts.

“What do you need?” Yave asked fitfully.

“I need to practice my craft.”

Yave grasped an idea and embraced hope. “Practice on me. Is there not a spell you might wish to try which could benefit us both? Something which will give me the power I need?”

“You are a dwarf and very resistant to magic,” Tabris replied, but her attention seemed to refocus.

“I will open myself to your spell.”

Tabris considered the offer. Possible spells flooded her mind. “There is something I have been hoping to try.”

“Will it strengthen me? Allow me to exact justice?”

Tabris nodded. “My natural focus is in the power of storms, my magic is dark violet. I have often wondered if I could power the spirit essence of a minion with the strength of storm. If successful, your body would be destroyed. The substance of your being would be transferred to the center of a powerful tempest. Your consciousness would remain, but you would no longer be of mortal form. You would become the force and the drive of a storm. Once the spell is cast, you would have independent thought and you could bring the strength of a storm upon whomever you choose… as long as I allow it.”

Yave hungered greedily for the power. She could not contain herself. “Cast the spell! Do not wait!”

Tabris shrugged. She rubbed her hands together, set them as if praying. Her eyes rolled over white. Her head bowed back as she called for the power of a storm. A violet diamond formed about her hands, the sides rotating, bristling with magic. Her pupils slowly returned, and she set them on the sky. She threw her hands up over her head, and the purple diamond bolted to the heavens.

Dark, angry clouds formed over the desert, ignoring the heat, ignoring the sun. They rumbled with purpose. A bolt of lightning struck Yave. It disintegrated her body as it swallowed the dwarf queen’s spirit.

#

Lief spoke barely a word to the other elves that surrounded him. His eyes drifted across the grounds of Dark Spruce. He searched for Petiole, but found no sign of the elder. For the most part, he ignored the questions of those eager to hear news of the events in Dunop, until someone asked how he survived the shadow trees.

Lief’s eyes narrowed, his voice rang out bitterly. “I survived because Ryson Acumen showed greater courage than our leader. I survived because cliff behemoths are far wiser than Petiole could ever hope to be.”

The crowd of elves revealed shock. Some tensed, others gasped, but the whole waited for some shred of explanation.

Lief gave it willingly, angrily. “The shadow tree seeds should never have been dropped. It was the action of a coward, a weak and sniveling coward. A river rogue would have greater sense.”

Lief turned about to find any objection. He was met with only stunned silence. He still could not find Petiole. He fumed. “Where is our elder? Where is the fool who would not hold to his word? Where is the jackass that would dare to repeat the greatest crime of our race?”

One from the crowd called out meekly. “He waits at the far eastern perimeter. He counsels with the guard.”

Lief shook his head in disgust. “He counsels with no one. He hides like a worm in the mud. He looks to the guard for protection, but he can not hide from what he must admit. Follow me. All of you follow me.”

Lief stormed through the crowd. He moved to the east, straining to find a silhouette in the shadows. When he spotted a lone figure lurking behind an old oak, he moved upon it with judgment in his mind.

Petiole immediately called for guards to his side. They seemed to take too long, but they reached him before Lief.

Lief scorned the sight. He ignored the guards. His eyes lit on Petiole with angry purpose. The words dripped from his mouth like poison from a snake. “You dropped the seeds. You didn’t give us