Dragonvein Book Four (15 page)

“Never abuse those people responsible for your safety,” he'd instructed Martok. They had just witnessed a guest beating their personal attendant for having dropped a cup of wine while visiting another mage. “They may not possess magic, but they certainly know when you sleep and eat. They know when you are at your most vulnerable. So, in truth, they protect you every bit as much as your wards. Never forget that.”

His father was less pragmatic. His kindness came from the heart rather than any need for personal protection. Still, the end results of loyalty were the same.

It was late into the afternoon by the time Vernon returned and they were finally underway on their four-day journey to the Bronstar’s home. As the sun waned on that first evening, Martok began to consider what tactics he should employ when they arrived. Whatever wards that Sylas and Desmond had established at the house would have vanished instantly upon their deaths: a clear warning to the family of what was to come. Evelyn and the others would know well enough that only one person could be responsible for their killing. The entire family's wards were sure to be reinforced and solidly in place for his anticipated arrival.

The fact that wards disappeared upon the death of their creators was something that had always perplexed Martok. He had ideas running around in his head that could possibly make them last forever – or at least until they were deliberately destroyed - and hoped to find time to explore these theories further once his mission of vengeance was over. Such a contribution to magic craft would preserve his name through the ages. He would have achieved true immortality.

“Leaving something behind that endures is the only kind of immortality that really exists,” his father would say whenever the subject of death arose. “It's what you do with the time you have that matters. Forget about everlasting life. If you seek it, you will forget to see the world around you. Think of the wonders you would miss.”

Vernon remained silent for the majority of the journey. It wasn’t until they reached the borders of the Bronstar lands that he said more than a few words. And when he did, it was merely to echo Martok's own thoughts.

“My Lord. How will you gain access? At least a dozen mages dwell within their house. They are sure to have strengthened their defenses.”

Martok had been dwelling on this problem and had yet to come up with a solution. But he would not turn back. The storm still raged inside him and his will remained as iron. Kytain would have told him to be patient and wait for the proper moment to strike. Martok had learned much from the man, but in this instance he was still his father’s son - direct and filled with passion. Though his father used his passion in kind and often gentle ways, it was passion, nevertheless.

The Bronstar manor was not surrounded by solidly built high walls as were the older mage homes; a style adopted during a time when wars were fought less with magic and more with sinew and steel. Instead, they had erected a tall wrought iron fence, tipped with gold and silver spikes. The intricacy of its design was certainly eye-catching and denoted, as was intended, the family's considerable wealth and influence. Just behind the fence, a thick hedge had been cultivated, effectively obscuring the first two floors of the four story manor from view.

Though nowhere near as sprawling as Kytain’s estate, there were few houses and grounds as elaborately designed and expensively decorated. On the occasions Martok had previously visited he had considered it far too ostentatious. Admittedly Kytain’s home was filled with treasures, but it was treasure accumulated over time throughout the generations. There was a powerful sense of history and dignity about the place. By contrast, the Bronstar family had only become a wealthy house two-hundred years ago, so most of their possessions – including the manor itself – were recently acquired.

They had approached from the south, through forestland to avoid being seen. But now they were forced onto the main road, and like everything else that bore the mark of Bronstar, this was built to project wealth. Paved with the rarest of stones imported from the dwarf mines of Gol’ Shupa, each small section reflected light in a unique way. Though the stones themselves were basically red, blue, or yellow, the rays shining from them would change color constantly in a dazzling display as an approaching party of visitors passed over them.

When the guard house came into view, its gates were hanging invitingly open. Martok could sense the wards had been laid just on the other side of these. He halted his horse about fifty yards away and dismounted.

“Ride up and tell them I am here,” he instructed Vernon.

Vernon spurred his horse to a quick trot. A lone guard, dressed identically to those Sylas had installed at Kytain's manor, stepped out to meet him. After a brief conversation, the old servant started back while the guard hurried on to the main entrance of the house.

“Smug bastard,” Vernon hissed. “I hope you take a few of those guards as well when you send the Bronstar’s to oblivion.”

Martok smiled up at the old man. “I will try. But for now you should move away to a safe distance. I can’t be worried about you when I'm facing whatever comes next.”

After bowing his head, Vernon rode off approximately two hundred yards before stopping and dismounting.

              While waiting, Martok could feel the essence of the dragons reaching out to him from across the great expanse, fueling the inferno inside. The mental barrier he had erected to contain all his fury was beginning to crumble. Then, he saw Evelyn Bronstar emerge from the house and start toward him. She was alone. He almost laughed out loud at her arrogance. She thought to coax him into attacking her. To lure him on through the wards. Bitch.

He strode up to the guard house. Evelyn had positioned herself just on the safe side of the protecting wards, a self-assured smile on her face. She knew she was safe. There was nothing Martok could do to her unless he could break the combined wards of what he guessed to be more than twenty mages. Though none would be remotely a match for his power individually, together they formed a barrier more than capable of keeping him out. Should he pass through it, his own magic would immediately be stripped away.

Evelyn was the first to speak. “I see you have done me a great service, Martok Dragonvein. I had intended to do away with Sylas anyway, being that he'd outlived his use. Though I will admit I'm surprised you were able to overcome him. You must truly be as strong as the rumors suggest.”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Martok invited.

Evelyn laughed loudly, for a moment forgoing her typically proper and demure manners. “No. I think not. But do feel free to come inside.”

Martok regarded her closely for a second or two. “You know, I never really noticed before, but you and Desmond do look remarkably alike. Or should I say,
did
look remarkably alike? I burned his body to a pathetic little pile of ashes. And he screamed... he screamed just like a little girl right up until the very end. I thought you might like to know that.”

Evelyn did not rise to the bait. She merely waved a careless hand. “I have other grandchildren. Desmond was not nearly the most talented. Or the brightest.”

Her callous reaction struck Martok quite forcibly. Ruthless was an understatement when speaking about this fiend of a woman. “Do not look to your other grandchildren,” he told her. “They will all be dead soon enough.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? And how do you intend to accomplish this? Will you wait outside my door in the hope that we will become fools enough to file out and do battle with you? I think not.”

“I don’t need to wait. You are already fools. And your schemes are coming to an end…today.”

The rage and strength of the dragons, which had been steadily increasing throughout their short conversation, had now become completely at one with his own. He allowed it to saturate him to the very core of his spirit. Blood coursed as fire through his veins. This was power…true power. Even greater than when he had faced Sylas. In an instant, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

“If you have servants you wish to live, send them out now,” he continued. “Otherwise, they will perish with you.”

“You are every bit a Dragonvein,” she mocked. “Stupid, reckless, and ignorant. I have sent word to the other great houses, and they will be arriving soon. So you go right ahead and waste what little time you have left trying to break our wards.” She sniffed contemptuously. “Or you could run home and wait for death there. It matters not. The Dragonvein line ends with your final breath. And I will be there when it happens. I will delight in watching the light dim from those precious blue eyes of yours until, finally, the world is rid of your wretched family forever.”

“Let the others come,” Martok told her. “The Bronstar family will be nothing but a bad memory by the time they arrive. So I suggest you go back inside. I would tell you to say farewell to those you love, but I doubt your withered old heart is capable of such a feeling.”

Evelyn’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “Beast! You know nothing of what it takes to endure. Or of how to attain the power and influence necessary to ascend to greatness. Neither did that idiot Kytain. He squandered his power on sentiment and compassion, as did his lapdog Ralmar. Soon my family will rule all of Lumnia, and it will come about because I was strong enough to seize the opportunity. When my time is done, they will speak my name with reverence and awe for all eternity. Yours, on the other hand, will mean nothing and be totally forgotten in the mere blink of an eye.”

After spitting out her final few words, she spun on her heels and returned to the manor, head held high and shoulders thrust back like a proud queen marching to her coronation.

Martok waited until the door had closed firmly behind her before returning to his waiting mount and joining Vernon.

“Are we leaving, My Lord?” he asked.

“Soon,” he replied. After dismounting again, he handed his reins over and faced the home of his enemy.

He could feel the anticipation of the dragons.
Yes
.
Unleash our fury upon them
, they were telling him.
Do it now.
Their rage matched his own. They had felt the death of his father, and knew of Sylas' betrayal. They wanted vengeance as much as he did. And they would have it.

Dropping to his knees, he closed both eyes. The words slipped from his lips like a sweet melodic song. Over and over he repeated the incantation. With each recitation, the surge of magical force increased, constantly threatening to overcome him. But through the dragons, he was able to hold on to its power and continue building to the ultimate climax.

All at once, the ground began trembling violently, sending the horses into a panic. While Martok remained kneeling, Vernon gamely struggled with both sets of reins to control the steeds. Then, after more than a minute, everything became calm once again and there was silence. Total silence. Not even the ever-present song of the birds could be heard. It was as if time itself had stopped to acknowledge the advent of a monumental happening.

Martok opened his eyes, took a long cleansing breath, and then cast his gaze at the Bronstar family home one final time. “For you, father. For you, Kytain. I offer you justice.”

Dedication made, he thrust his palms flat on the ground.

The moment they made contact, a thundering boom shattered the calm which came from high above and could be heard for a hundred miles in every direction. From somewhere out of this violent disturbance, a vivid blue wave of energy formed, descending in a manner similar to slow moving lightning and then snaking out rapidly to surround the entire estate like a deadly marker. As the earth continued to tremble, with an almighty jolt, literally everything within the ring then abruptly dropped by more than a foot. It was as though a small island was starting to sink under its own weight. The glass from every window in the house immediately shattered. The iron gate was thrown down, and the guardhouse was torn to splinters.

There was no need to break the wards – though Martok was sure he could have if he'd needed to. The ground just beyond was now churning violently, heaving up in bubbles of black ooze. Slowly, the disintegrating manor began to sink ever further into the ground. Screams coming from within could be clearly heard, even over the loud cracks and rumbles of the house destroying itself.

              Martok allowed a smile to form - a tiny joy at the thought of Evelyn Bronstar’s final moments of terror.

One by one the wards vanished as the inhabitants of the manor perished. The building had completely collapsed in on itself before the last one was gone. The thick black liquid then poured in to fill the ever increasing pit that Martok was creating.  

In less than five minutes, every last trace of the once proud manor was completely gone. At last satisfied, Martok rose and turned to Vernon. The old man was continuing to stare wide-eyed and mouth agape at the devastated landscape.

“
Now
it's time to leave,” Martok told him before mounting his horse and setting off.

After eventually snapping out of his stupor, Vernon urged his mount to a canter in order to catch up. “M…My Lord,” he began when arriving alongside.

Fatigue was setting in. The rage was gone; his need for vengeance was satisfied. He looked over to the old servant and could see the fear in his expression. “Speak freely, Vernon. There is nothing to be afraid of. I swear it.”