A Wizard's Tears (11 page)

He laughed at the wisdom of the gods that had sent him to this place. They had banished him from his homeland, Mincalen, to learn respect perhaps, or a value of life. He had been thinking why they had thrust images of this priestess into his mind, filling him with lustings and depravities: as if his mind wasn’t depraved enough!

He wondered at their wisdom, not for the last time. He thought them afraid that they would not come and face him, but rather play this petty game of redemption. Only, he would not be redeemed. They had made him, and tried to mould him into what they had wanted. They wanted him to follow their guidance, like a moth to a flame. He would not. He could not. He sought answers. He sought to rival them himself. Yet they had brought him here. Folly! He would show them the defiance he had already shown them in his homeland. He would show the destruction he could cause to their objects of desire.

As for the priestess, he would ensnare her, seduce her, forcing her into his slave, his plaything. Then he would take the fight back, once more, to the gods themselves.

The guards at the walls had already seen him, and the Slardinian, and raised an alarm. He could detect the wizards on the walls, looking down at him. He could sense their fear, and his lips curled into a derisive sneer. The ground beneath his feet rumbled, his presence causing it to shudder and quake. Behind him, he left a trail of destruction, with trees toppled and burned and roads turned to rubble. The land feared him, and the people feared him.

Silently, he started walking towards the city gates, his Slardininan pet following, hissing all the while, tail slithering in suppressed anger across the ground.

Mandorl Kesar stood on the walls, above the portcullis of the city gate, watching the stranger approach with his sinister pet. The time had come. “Summon Suralubus,” he ordered to one of his brethren, who nodded and vanished into the air, casting a quick spell of transportation. Mages had no need to use their legs when they needed haste.

Within seconds, Suralubus appeared with the mage sent to find him. He nodded at Mandorl, and together, the two mages joined hands and teleported to the front of the city gates, just before the oncoming sorcerer.

At the sight of the two wizards, the sorcerer stopped, motioning for the charmed Slardinian to do the same.
Suralubus stood tall and proud, as did Mandorl. Both wizards had decided to face the sorcerer first. They were both the highest in skill and power, both with full control of The Waln, the highest level in known spell lore. It was hoped that they would be enough to stop this sorcerer. Surlaubus had been the first to caution his remaining brethren, who scoffed at the fact that this sorcerer would be any threat after facing them. In living memory, no man, mage or creature, had survived a battle with a member of The Waln. The wizards kept obedience in check from their sheer power alone.
Suralubus was, however, worried about the dark stranger before him. He was not of the land of Emorthos, indeed, of Elrohen itself, but from another plane. Why he had come here was unknown, and the wizard wanted to glean some knowledge for the good of Elrohen. If there were other worlds out there, other societies, then this was a monumental moment in history. Two worlds, colliding for the first time. It craved understanding, not violence. Yet, in light of recent events, he knew the sorcerer to be hostile, and as such he must protect the land, and learn answers afterwards.
The sorcerer was unpredictable. Who knew the full power the man possessed, of what affect his power would have with spells of The Waln, or Elrohen’s magick. Suralubus remembered the power from the stone circle, and also from the words of the scared Norfel who had come to see him. These warnings would not go unchecked. He must learn the full strength of this sorcerer, and quickly. One thing was for certain – he was not to be underestimated.
He had put the city on full alert. Mages lined the walls of the city, watching the scene below. They were to attack should the sorcerer break through himself and Mandorl. The priestess had been kept secure in one of the towers of the guild, and would remain there, surrounded by mages, protected. The sorcerer came for her, and he would not allow Vergail to be taken by this stranger. He had also informed the people of the city to remain in their homes, away from any fighting that may occur.
Lastly, Suralubus had sought out the artefact he knew he must, at this time. The Ice Lords, the protectors of ancient Elrohen, had to hear of this sorcerer and the effect on the land, as well as hearing of Keldoran, the young mage tied to the body of the land. He hoped they would return once more from their homes, giving the wisdom of the ages. He hoped they would come soon. Yet he knew not what they would do.
So, the stage was set, and the time was now. Suralubus breathed deeply, drawing his power to himself. He could see Mandorl doing the same; preliminary exercises for casting multiple spells. They would both need to be at the peak of their talents tonight.
The Slardinian hissed, his body moving from side to side in frustration at the delay in entering the city. He could smell food there, human flesh. Baring his fangs, the lizard man roared into the night, the sound bestial and dripping with malice and hunger.
The sorcerer looked at the two wizards before them, noting their calm demeanour, and sensed the power in them. At last, he thought to himself, some worthy adversaries to slay. It would make his victory all the sweeter when these two champions of the world crumbled under his feet.
Suralubus spoke first, his voice powerful and commanding as he felt his energies rising within him. “From where do you come from?” he boomed across the small distance to the sorcerer. “What business have you to come to this city?”
The sorcerer merely smiled back, his black eyes intense. Suralubus found himself staring at those eyes, being sucked into the pools of darkness, entering realms he had never trod on, seeing sights he had never witnessed. With a physical effort he tore his gaze from the bewitching stare of the sorcerer. Such power, in this silent stranger! Lorkayn said nothing in response. He raised one of his hands aloft, and without warning, a fierce gust of wind came forth from his hand to stir up the dust of the ground at the two mages’ feet. Coughing slightly, Suralubus and Mandorl involuntarily stepped backward, away from the swirling clouds of dust.
The sorcerer gestured at the ground in front of them, and this time his voice cried out in ancient sorcery. Suralubus could not understand the spell, but he could see the effect. Rising out of the ground, the dust swirled and began to coalesce into a form, an elemental made of dirt and stone.
Mandorl exchanged glances with Suralubus at this first sign of the sorcerer’s magicks. They too, had control over the elements, and could mould and shape dirt into earth elementals, beings made of magick, using the structure of the element to give them form and substance. Yet they could not do it as easily as the sorcerer had just done, nor with the speed at which the sorcerer had conjured this being. Already the sorcerer was proving he held great power, and the thought worried both wizards.
The elemental grew large fists of stone, the dust compacting and solidifying into the shape of two hands. One fist raised, and sped towards Mandorl, attempting to knock the wizard off his feet by a blow of earth and rock. Mandorl reacted quickly, using his years of training. He waited until the fist was almost upon him, then leapt into the air, spinning over the fist as it tried to strike. Landing neatly on his feet, the wizard began to utter his own spell, words tumbling forth from his lips in hurried, but measured, tones. Out of nowhere blasted a fierce gale, thundering into the moving earth, dissipating all form and substance, until the elemental was no more.
Suralubus did not wait to see Mandorl dispatch the summoned earth being, but instead cast his own spell, directly at the sorcerer.
Lorkayn’s eyes grew wide as he saw the city and the wizards fade before his eyes. In their place was a long road, heading up into mountains. Boulders lay to either side of the road, the rest of the landscape dusty and featureless. The Slardinian roared in fury at seeing the city disappear, and the smell of humans ebbing away. All he could see was a road, and mountains in the distance. The lizard man scratched his forehead with a talon, confused.
Eyes narrowing in understanding, the sorcerer began to chant. This was an illusion, a cheap trick conjured by one of the mages to give them time. He would not offer them this chance to mount a more forceful attack. As he chanted, the Slardinian watched in awe as the mountains faded, and the road vanished to the view of the city once more. Again the smell of flesh alerted the lizard man’s senses.
Suralubus saw his illusion had failed almost as soon as he had cast it. It had meant to give him and Mandorl some time to regroup, and mount a combined assault on the sorcerer, but within seconds his spell has been thrown aside and the sorcerer was upon them.
With an inhuman cry, and clearly angry, the sorcerer ran towards the two of them, his hands aloft and glowing red energy. His speed was phenomenal, and caught them off guard. In a flurry of motion, he had slammed one of his hands across Mandorl’s face, rivulets of red energy searing across his eyes, burning, blinding. At the same time, his other hand exploded into a blast of violent red magick. Like electricity, the energy coursed across Suralubus, and he was too slow to cast any protection spell. With a cry of pain, he fell to the ground, electricity surging through him.
The battle of two worlds had begun, and already the power from the sorcerer was tearing the world of Elrohen, and its champions, apart.

Dreams and images flooded her brain, vivid in detail: a heart, thumping loudly - her own? A distant cry, a
scream
, echoing in her mind over and over. She could smell the fires, burning wood and homes. Smoke, so much smoke, pouring out onto the streets of Malana.

"No!" she yelled out, and woke with a start. She was lying in Suralubus' chamber, on the rug by the fire. The fire was smouldering. Maybe that was why she had dreamt of smoke. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she wondered how she had managed to doze. The room was warm, from the fire, and comfortable. Yet her mind was racing with worry; sleep had been the furthest thing from her mind.

She hoped she hadn't been asleep for too long. Perhaps by now the sorcerer was already at the city's gates, perhaps even apprehended and Suralubus would walk in at any moment grinning. However, she could not shake off the feeling of impending danger. What if the sorcerer proved too strong for Suralubus? She shook her head as if to tumble the thought from her mind. Foolish thoughts, these were, and did nothing to lighten her worry. Suralubus was the strongest mage in Emorthos. He would not fail.

Vergail stood and stretched her aching limbs. She had slept on top of one of her arms, and she flexed it several times to get the blood flowing through it again. Her hair fell down in a jumbled mass of black. She smiled subconsciously, glad in the knowledge that nobody was here to see her in such a dishevelled state. Still, she needed some air. What harm could it do to gaze at the city from the tower's walls? She was still safe, confined in the magician guild with mages all around her. Taking a small moment to straighten her hair and stand tall, the proud priestess left Suralubus' chamber and walked down the curved corridor, heading towards a viewing balcony.

The sights and sounds that greeted her eyes and ears when she opened the door to the outside balcony made her shiver uncontrollably.

There were fires, all across the city. Smoke. Screams and cries of pain attacked her ears, making her bow her head and pray fervently to Untaba in sudden horror. What had happened to her beloved city of gold? The pain of the people! The screams were like actual blows to her body. She had been
sleeping
while this carnage unfolded in her city. She was supposed to be a protector. The shame hit her in waves: she had failed her people when they needed her the most. The mages too, had not protected the city from this onslaught - what were they doing? Where were they?

Vergail huddled her robe about her, suddenly chilled to the core of her being. Surely the sorcerer alone could not have done so much damage to the city by himself? "Suralubus…" she whispered, her thoughts on her friend. She prayed for his well being and strength.

"Priestess!" A mage ran out to the balcony behind her. "Thank Untaba I have found you!"
"What is happening?" Vergail almost screeched at him. The mage's haggard eyes glanced at the view from the

balcony before answering. "The city has been breached. The strange sorcerer, his power is awesome…he has withstood Suralubus and Mandorl. He is in the city! He comes for you. You must come with me! We need to hide"

"Hide?" Vergail's tone was loud and harsh, but not without fear. "I am high priestess of Untaba's golden temple. I will not hide!"

"You must," implored the mage. "No-one can withstand the sorcerer's powers. He is not of this plane-"
"It matters not!" cut in Vergail. "I have already failed my people once. I will not do so again. What of the mages, Suralubus and Mandorl? Do they live?"
"They both still fight the sorcerer, but the fight is moving towards this guild. Those fires you see, they are the result of the battle. All mages that can be spared are helping the two high mages, but they only seem to slow the sorcerer, not stop him. The carnage is terrible, priestess. The sorcerer cares not who he strikes, be a mage, or a commoner!"
Vergail shuddered, but it was a momentary physical weakness. She stood tall and proud once more, determined not to show fear in front of this mage's eyes; indeed, in front of her city. "Take me to the battle. Untaba's guidance is needed there immediately."
"Priestess, it is too dangerous. I have been instructed to take you to the catacombs-"
"The battle!" the priestess interrupted harshly. "I will not hide and see my city engulf in flames around me. I have the power to help, maybe turn the tides on this sorcerer. Take me to the battle at once."
The mage knew better than to protest any further.
An explosion ripped through the courtyard, sending stone and rubble hurling into the air. Pillars shuddered and toppled. Water fountains collapsed and cracked. Market stalls shattered into oblivion. All around were people, running, screaming and fleeing.
Suralubus wiped the blood away from his eyes, a nasty cut to his forehead bleeding down his face. He looked on at the destruction of the city in anguish. All his power, all of his spell craft and knowledge, all was for naught. He could not save the city, or the people, from this stranger. The sorcerer had blasted the city's entrance gate asunder, while he and Mandorl writhed on the ground in agony, nursing their wounds. They were powerless to stop the sorcerer and the Slardinian from entering the city.
Now, after a healing spell had alleviated his pain, he had followed the wake of the sorcerer's destruction. It wasn't difficult to follow. He knew his brethren had tried to oppose, to stop the sorcerer from invading the city, but all had been cast aside as if they were made of paper. Fortunately the sorcerer only struck out at those who tried to stop him: the common folk and the market traders seemed beneath his notice. Yet many of the people had died in the crossfire of combat. Homes burned as fireballs sizzled in the air. Huge gusts of wind knocked people off their feet, and spread the fire. People were trampled in the rush as the crowd in the busy courtyard hastened to flee.
The sorcerer seemed oblivious to the carnage, moving inexorably towards the mage's guild. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, another fact that disturbed Suralubus greatly. He hoped Vergail had taken his advice and hidden in the catacombs beneath the guild. The sorcerer must not be allowed to take her!
Mandorl appeared by his side, badly hurt but still alive. His face was scarred with burns, and he walked with a limp from a savage attack on his leg. His face was as haggard as Suralubus' own. Both wizards glanced at each other briefly. Without words, they walked in unison down the courtyard, heading for the mage's guild. There were no words to account for their defeat, nor the city's ruin. They could only carry on, and do what they can. Suralubus prayed, not for the last time, that his message to the Ice Lords had been received.