A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (22 page)

Instead, he growled a bit in frustration at the duality of th
e situation, grabbing the reins of his horse so tight that the leather dug deep furrows into his palms. Every fiber in his body was telling him that something was wrong with this. They were riding so nonchalant into the very heart of an ambush!

The worst
part was that his two companions were seeking it out, as if they were trying to prove something!
Damn it all, whatever happened to fear being the normal reaction to fighting
?
He just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to do what he enjoyed. It seemed as if fate had a different plan for the apprentice. Why did things never go according to plan or desire?

So be it,
Marcius promised grimly after a few moments of intense internal debate. If things are so adamant about coming up despite my wishes, I will meet it head on as Jared and Alicia do. He realized during the course of his thoughts a grim grin of his own had found its way on his face, matching, more or less, the ones his companions wore.

Oh, the irony
. . .

The trail gradually grew wider, the well beat
en path extending outwards until all three of them were able to ride next to each other with room to spare on either side. They were now traveling through the remains of an ancient river bed, and the edges began to become rockier slowly rising in height until they extended around the travelers, like an impromptu funnel of solid stone and dirt topped with thinning vegetation.

Looking up, Marcius could just barely see the hills beyond. They were littered with caves and recesses. Gray boulders, worn smooth by
time and the elements, were strewn haphazardly. The trees were sparse now and far less thick, for root was hard to find in the rockier terrain. Though bushes and other types of small foliage flourished wherever there was room.

The part that made his blood
run cold and drove away the bravado he had been building up was the fact that, even to his inexperienced adventuring mind, it was obvious this spot was perfect to ambush someone. Any of the numerous shadows above and beyond them could hide a person, someone waiting until the time was ripe.

The sun shone through the thin overhanging trees above, forming a puzzle of light and darkness which played tricks on the eyes. Steep, rocky sides now reached up and around, almost in a complete circle. It was as if the
y were riding through a nature made tunnel that had the top lopped off. Marcius's imagination pictured several featureless sneering bandits, just out of sight above them, waiting to reach down and slice off his head with wickedly edged blades.

He began to
see people where there were none. The shadows held innumerable terrors to his rampant imagination, and he found himself jumping at every noise and movement he saw out of the corner of his eye.
How far was the ambush again?  He tried to ask, but all that came out was a staggered wheeze. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, which, along with his lips, was completely dry, leaving a nasty tasting film in its place.

The gentle gaits of the horses were also nerve-wracking on the apprentice. Each soft cl
op of the hooves on the dusty path seemed to seal his fate, walking ever steady to where they
knew
lay a group of people that intended to
kill
them.

His heart stuttered when Alicia stopped abruptly. "Get ready," she said softly.

Jared gave Marcius a confirming glance, and the swordsman's amber eyes did indeed shine brightly. No doubt his chest was beating just as fast as Marcius's, but for an entirely different reason. Marcius's head betrayed him, nodding his affirmation to Jared before he even had time to reconsider. Alicia led them forward, gently urging her horse to a half trot, forcing Marcius and Jared to hurry to follow suit.

The attack came quickly and without warning as the brown stallion's cloven hoof hit the soft, well trodden earth a third time.
The deceptively gentle
zip
of arrows filled the air and their ears, spooking the skittish horses and causing them to rear in distress. Marcius was thrown off immediately, even as he reflexively took cover at the noise. He managed to avoid the brunt of the fall, coming up in a disorderly sideways roll. The scared horses took off, leaving a trail of reddish-brown dust that hung about obscuring vision. Marcius counted himself lucky he wasn't trampled or riddled full of arrows in the rush.

He looked up and saw
the answer to why he was not a pincushion. More than a dozen black shafted arrows hung about suspended in the air, stopped as if they had hit an invisible wall of air. It must have been one of Alicia's spells. Another volley came, and was similarly halted, hovering about like a swarm of angry insects before dropping to the ground.

Jared and Alicia managed to dismount with a bit more dignity than Marcius. Already the two were pressed up against the wall in a defensive position, the swordsman out in front, fl
ashing blade in hand. Jared gestured frantically at Marcius to join them.

I have to reach them!
Marcius felt vulnerable out here by himself, with at least half a dozen yards between him and his friends. No more arrows flew, but they also had not seen hide or hair of their attackers. No battle cries, no promises of death, not even the bright glint of unsheathed weapons. Nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves in the cool afternoon breeze.

Marcius's legs protested as he forced himself up quickly, int
ent on getting over to Jared and Alicia.

Marc, above you!
Faerril's cry took precedence over the myriad of other thoughts and priorities that danced in his head, and he ducked instinctively, turning as he did so, right as a sharp jagged spear stabbed where he had been moments before.

The attacker seemed a bit stumped as to why it felt no resistance of yielding flesh, the spear flailing a bit before a head peeked over the lip to check out the situation. A green face peered back at Marcius.
The goblin's nostrils flared a bit as it flashed him a derisive toothy yellow sneer before disappearing back into the brush above him, taking the spear with it.

Thanks, Faerril.

Alicia and Jared are in trouble!
The familiar responded, not bothering to acknowledge the gratitude.

Marcius had completely forgotten about those two. A quick glance behind him confirmed what the wyvrr had said. The defensive position the pair had taken also trapped them. Two gray skinned oggrons and a human used long spears in a similar fashion to
what the goblin had done to him, jabbing at Jared and Alicia from above the overhang like they were a pair of cornered animals.

The attacking bandits kept their faces wrapped with what looked to be dirty white towels, while the rest of their bodies were s
heathed in a rag tag ensemble of leather and ill-fitted mail armor, most likely 'liberated' from previous, less fortunate, victims. The only thing on them that seemed to show any semblance care of was the weapons they wielded. They were well made, sturdy, and noticeably sharpened to a killing edge. None of the bandits carried less than three visible weapons, ranging from deadly knives to swords of all shapes and sizes, not including the wicked spears they were using to attack his friends.

Jared was hard pre
ssed to keep the spears away from them with his shorter sword, and it seemed as if Alicia didn't have an answer to the dangers, for no spells came forth from her either.

Marcius's mind hurriedly skimmed through the limited options available to him. His van
tage point from across the path gave him an open shot at the attackers above without risking hurting his friends, but what spell was appropriate? Time was rapidly ticking by, any moment someone could attack him again, since there was no doubt that many more bandits were hidden all around them.

Hurry, Marc! Hurry!
Faerril practically yelled as two more bandits joined the siege, jumping off the ledge to land lightly in front of the pair. One held a nasty dirk and short sword, while the other chose a more direct battle axe, stalking in with an air of confidence. They all knew being attacked from above and in front would be too much for the pair to handle.

He took the first spell that came to mind: a simple bolt of pure nether. It wouldn't kill them most likely
, but it would cause some serious damage nonetheless. "Icantium engrio!" he mouthed, his dry lips cracking painfully as his nervous hands formed the sigils as quickly as they could.

He pulled the energy around him, condensing it into a single pulsing ball.
It heeded the call and came forth. Pointing his finger at one of the oggrons above his friends, he gave the nether a gentle push, releasing the design of the spell. A stream of soft green light issued from the fingertip, arcing deceptively quick to impact against the creature's chest.

There was a sharp crack as it struck, the snapping of bone painfully audible. The oggron gave an off-balanced lurch forward, trying in vain to remain erect, but eventually gravity proved the stronger and it came crashing down
, narrowly missing its companions below it. The body hit the ground with a wince inducing thud. It lay very still.

Marcius could only gape stupidly at the result of his spell, his mouth hung open in amazement. It is one thing to daydream about casting a sp
ell offensively. It was another thing to do it. The full realization of the power he wielded came to the surface with full force, along with the particularly frightening memory of the lesson he learned when he was getting his familiar items. He, Marcius Realure, was a force to be reckoned with? Would he, too, one day play with the lives of men, just like the dagger and cloak at Ken's place?

There was a moment of stunned silence as all participants also paused to consider what just happened, though it lasted
scarcely a second before an ear splitting roar of pure anger split the peace in two. The last remaining oggron leapt from his perch above Jared and Alicia, landing heavily on the trail a scant half dozen yards from Marcius. He roared again, throwing the spear he had been using to the ground in obvious disdain. Instead, the brutish creature reached up to the huge greatsword strapped to his back. He drew it forth easily, way too easily in fact. No human could have wielded the cumbersome weapon as naturally as this creature did.

Even the two fellow bandits that had been approaching Alicia and Jared from the front had to shirk away from the sheer unbridled power and wrath of an angry oggron.

That was a fatal error on their part, for Alicia used the distraction to unleash one of her quick casts, the bright blue flash of lightning cracked the air and struck the one distracted bandit before leaping in kind to his friend. They both shook violently for a second, suspended by invisible puppet strings, before falling to their knees in shock. The putrid smell of burnt flesh rose in the air from their smoking bodies as the strings were cut and they went face flat into the dirt.

Like their fallen oggron friend, they too lay unmoving.

None of this mattered to the angry oggron, who even now held Marcius's eyes with his own beady ones. Revenge flashed behind the orbs, a clear window to the promise of death behind them. With a throaty growl, the oggron hefted his sword high above him and charged.

Chapter 13

"E
xcuse me, Headmaster, a moment of your time please?" came the eager voice of Dentaige, a balding middle aged wizard giddy with excitement as he approached. The long black beard that spilled down to just below his chest was just beginning to show traces of pepper, and the simple gray robe the man preferred did much to hide how skinny he truly was. Judging by the state of his attire, it also would have been safe to assume the man hadn't slept much in the past few days. Still, the energy the wizard practically oozed would have been considered unexpected to those who did not know Dentaige well. In fact, to most people, it only seemed to increase the older he got.

Denician sighed inwardly. He didn't have much time to spare, and anyone who had ever spent
a moment studying at the Academy would quickly discern that indulging Dentaige usually resulted in signing the next hour or so of your life away, as the excitable man could probably talk a dragon out of its own skin.

Still, as the Headmaster of the Acade
my it
was
his duty and Dentaige was certainly a well respected member. A bit eccentric, but a veritable prodigy when it came to magical discovery and theory. So with a strained smile of acceptance, he nodded. "Sure, old friend, please do tell me what has you in such an uproar? Surely it must be great news? Pray tell, keep it short though, I have an important meeting soon."

The wizard's head rapidly bobbed in agreement as he fell into step with Denician. They made their way through the huge halls of the Acad
emy as the Headmaster walked to his office. Archways of enchanted swirling marble and old paintings of famous wizards bear witness to their passage as the old wizard prattled endlessly about the goings on within the Academy, detailing the various dramas that inevitably came to pass whenever people of power gathered under one roof.

Denician only listened half-heartedly, quietly bidding his time until the long-winded wizard got to the real reason of why he needed to talk to him, nodding here and there when t
he situation prompted him to do so. He had to keep an eye out for where they were heading.

To walk through the halls of this building without careful situational awareness could be dangerous. Only people so enraptured with their own business, such as Denta
ige, could do so with any confidence. Whether or not it was wise was another argument entirely. Though there was the irrefutable proof of the wizard’s old age, so he had to logically be doing something right.

The site the very building was founded upon was
a nexus of energy, a place where nether gathered like moths to a flame, and it didn't help that the sheer amount of magic that was practiced here by the wizards only added fuel to the proverbial fire. Magic reverberated in the air like notes of music, tangible even to those without the gift to utilize it. The arcane saturated every facet of the place, from the very stone and marble that comprised the walls to the forks they used to eat, the end result of such a concentrated gathering of magic was a place where strange occurrences were common place.

There were things that went bump in the night here. In fact, it went bump pretty much whenever it deemed fit.

He didn't bother trying to explain some of the things he had seen spawn from the odd habits of these hallowed halls. After all, good wizards sought to perfect their control over magic, great wizards realized they had none. Occurrences ranged from the harmless, such as dancing lights randomly appearing and disappearing, to the dangerous, such as the time the odd peculiarities somehow summoned a drake to the very courtyard situated in the middle of this building.

Denician shivered at the memory. The large creature had taken wing, but instead of escaping through the open roofed courtyard, it had directed its a
nger at the nearby first term apprentices, scattering them like ants as the hot steam issued forth from the great maw of the beast threatened to sear the flesh from their very bones. He had been among those apprentices, but instead of running to get help from a Magus, he found himself entranced by the fierce beauty of the creature. A creature that gave most wizards pause. It was humbling to the say the least.

He had to have it.

By the time a Master capable of handling a drake had arrived on the scene, they found that Denician, using a little bit of ingenuity, a lot of luck, and the Academy's penchant for huge, ornate chandeliers, had managed to trap the beast.

After the astonishment wore off, the issue came up about what to do about the drake. They had wan
ted to slay the beast and be done with it, but Denician had argued fiercely, instead insisting that he had another use for the proud, but dangerous, creature.

Another use indeed, nothing less than a drake familiar would be acceptable for one such as you!
Yhgolanic, his familiar, interrupted. The voice was large and powerful in his head, as one might expect from a creature several hands taller than large horse, but it was something he was used to.

No doubt the creature was high above the Academy as usual, l
arge wings beating against the air as it glided among the wind currents. The emphatic link allowed him to feel the sheer bliss that accompanied such actions, the pleasurable sensation of biting cold air that flowed over his familiar's body, rustling the bright blue scales as it banked for yet another dive through the clear azure sky. He briefly entertained the notion of how the citizens of Aralene would react if they could see the invisible drake above their city.

Don't be so coy, Yhgol. You know you enjoy
it!

Indeed,
the familiar admitted.
It does have certain. . . perks. Still, I long to travel alongside you, something which the size of this form does not always allow.

I could always shrink you. There are spells that could help you there.

Spells that could get past my scales?
the drake countered smugly.
The ones that can are unnatural at best, and still painful. The reshaping of bones and tissue is a feeling that cannot be described.

True, my friend. I'll look into it. See what I can find.

Yhgolanic snorted,
Alright, I'll hold you to it then. Though I think it would be prudent to do so hurriedly. Who else will protect you from yourself, if not me? Also, if you even think about turning me into something like a rat, I will wrap my tail around you and squeeze until such notions no longer exist! Or you pop like an overly ripe grape, whichever comes first.

I've done well so far, my friend, and I'm sure your concerns are not biased at all. Plus, I think you would make a cute mouse, or perhaps a chi
pmunk.
The image of a drake's dragon-like head on the body of a rodent he imparted along with the comment caused a great roar of conceding laughter from the familiar, the deep voice echoing in Denician's head like it was an empty cavern.

"Well? What'd you
think?" Dentaige's voice managed to pierce the haze, the large brown eyes wide in anticipation of Denician's answer.

"Sorry, I missed the last part," he apologized, "My familiar was
—"

"Carrying on in conversation?" the wizard offered, chuckling with good humor as Denician nodded. "No worries there, Headmaster. Trust me, we all have such things in our heads, and we
all
have had that blank glassy look on our face at some point! To begrudge another fellow wizard for such a thing would be hypocritical at best!"

Denician smiled back. “
Caught me there, old friend. Allow me to make it up to you. What was it that you asked?" he nodded to a few members who gave greeting to the pair as they walked by.

"Well, like I said, I found this most curious entry in the archives, which you know I love to peruse from time to time." Denician rolled his eyes at that statement. Dentaige practically lived in the archives. "I found a rather interesting thesis on th
e nether from some unknown wizard. The name seemed to be erased from the records, for I tried to cross reference it, of course."

Denician nodded, it wasn't an uncommon punishment for wizards who had betrayed their oath. When an apprentice was inducted into
being taught at the Academy, they were required to pledge their abilities towards furthering the quest for knowledge of magic. They were not allowed to use their power for political gain. Martial involvement, such as fighting in armies was not discouraged however. Denician always found it morbidly amusing. A wizard was allowed to use his power to light groups of soldiers on fire, but not to become king.

Death, execution of familiar, and forever to be removed from the records of even being a wizard, were a
mong the punishments given out, depending on the severity of the infraction.

"The author stated that he believed the nether was not another dimension of power that overlaps our own, like most wizards are lead to believe."

Denician's brow rose up in surprise. "Well, that is a common belief, something which we have not questioned in hundreds of years. What does this mystery wizard think it is then?"

"Well, he claims it is a door."

"A door?"

"To other worlds, planes if you believe the Grianiare Law of Worldly
Composition. The realm of the nether is the pathway that connects it all," the balding wizard clarified. "Which would explain why our supposedly omnipotent Gods don't even have power over it, since, if you believe everything else, it would make sense that the Gods of one plane could not extend their control over to another plane, or even the connecting 'road.' Though they can extend their control in a rudimentary fashion over nether that seeps into our world, as Avalene has showed. This is all speculative of course."

"Well, if this is true, what does it matter?" Denician asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the direction this was going. He had heard similar theories before, even believed them to an extent, but it wasn't feasible or practical to pursue.

"Well, if one could, in theory, insert yourself into the nether. . . " Dentaige let the question hang, and it didn't take a scholar or sage to get what was implied. There was just one problem, well, two problems.

"First off, my friend, I respect you as a fe
llow member of our establishment, but I must point out a few glaring flaws in your hypothesis." Denician didn't miss the mischievous twinkle in the older man's eye, there was more to this than he was telling, but he pressed on anyway, "First off, there is no spell that allows for us to breech that boundary. You wouldn't be the first who thought about it. Every attempt to create a new spell to allow so has failed, horribly. Often to great disaster to the countryside or the local populace. Secondly, that is hardly a new theory, someone who. . . 'peruses'. . . the archives as much you should know that. History is awash with such thoughts."

"Had you told me this two days ago, I would have agreed, " Dentaige started, the budding excitement in his voice growing, p
retty much giving away that Denician had walked right into a trap, "But the thesis brought up an interesting point and route to achieve it. Why is there no word for 'life' in the language of the
Kra’nael?
" he asked, referring to the language that controlled how magic worked.

“
Because the Goddess Avalene, when she sealed off our world from the rest of the Pantheon, did not intend for wizards to have power over life. That is something left for the priests that show devotion and such. There is no word for 'death' either." Dentaige nodded at the response, a perfect answer from someone as studied as the Headmaster.

"Why is there no word for 'nether'?"

Denician's eyes widened as he began to see what Dentaige was going for. "Because. . . she doesn't want us to control or have any interaction with the nether?"

"Yes, and what is the first rule of wizardry?"

"Just because it hasn't been proven, doesn't mean it doesn't exist!" they both said in unison, laughing a bit.

"So," Denician summarized, "you are saying that if w
e could find out these words, no doubt lost from most, if not all, texts of the language, it would allow for us, in theory of course, to create spells that would be able to test these ideas of yours?"

"In a nutshell, yes. Finding them could very well change the face of Faelon itself."

"Well, my esteemed colleague, how are you going to find them? I mean, it seems an intriguing prospect to say the very least, but it's also a shot in the dark, at best. One would expect for the Goddess to make it difficult to acquire such knowledge."