A Wizard's Tears (6 page)

He ripped the red robes she wore from her body lustily, making her gasp, not in terror, but in carnal need. The robes scattered to the floor like soft, red petals of a fading flower. Before him she stood, naked, her heaving breasts firm in the night breeze. His hands moved toward her, clasping each breast, his fingers rolling over her stiffening nipples.

A soft moan escaped her lips as they parted slightly, her eyes transfixed to his, dreamy and eager. He marvelled at her beauty, her long, cascading black hair, the whiteness and smoothness of her skin, her penetrating green eyes, urging him on. Her lips were red and full, pouting, murmuring for him to touch her. So he did.

One of his hands snaked downward, to linger, softly caressing her. With a hoarse cry of delight her body collapsed against his, wanting, needing the closeness of skin and flesh. Entwined thus, he leaned down and kissed her, his teeth gently grazing and nibbling her soft lips.

Yes, I have need. Come sorcerer, come and satisfy my cravings for your muscular, magickal flesh.
The image faded, but its intensity rippled through him in waves. Again he looked and saw the forest around him; the two bodies he had killed lay at his feet. Taking a deep breath, the dark wizard forced his taut nerves to calm. The visions would be solved. Already he had sensed a name, whispered on the air: Vergail. It was the woman, unbidden in his mind, filling him with passion, but at the same time, a nebulous fear. Lorkayn did not enjoy this feeling. He had never been frightened in his entire life, yet these visions and dreams obscuring his mind made his senses reel in shock. Some strange magick was present here, conjuring these thoughts to him. Perhaps it was the gods that had banished him, somehow clinging on to his brain and senses with the tenacity of a squid’s tentacle on its dying prey. The wizard snorted in renewed anger and defiance. Let them play with his mind, for now. He would find his way back to Mincalen, and then all would pay for this ridicule. First, though, he would find this Vergail.
Silently, the sorcerer walked through the forest, following Nagoth, his mind lost in thought. In anguish branches and roots curled away from his presence, the magicks within him conflicting with those of the land of Elrohen.

Alteus listened with rising trepidation to Nagoth, who had returned to the village gibbering like an idiot, his eyes wide in terror as he recalled the violent deaths of his comrades. The village leader blanched visibly at the graphic detail Nagoth gave of their deaths, and indeed, of the fact that their poison dart, which had felled huge bear like creatures in their forest, known as G’zel, in seconds, had done nothing to the dark sorcerer. Nagoth explained the sorcerer was close to their village, which had prompted the need to try and capture him.

“Nagoth,” said Alteus, putting a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I command you to travel to Malana to seek counsel with the high mages. They will have heard of this renegade wizard, and will know what to do. You will be of no more use here.”

Nagoth nodded, understanding. Secretly, he was glad to do this errand. He would be away from the wizard when he arrived in their village.

“Go with speed,” said Alteus. “We will guard Rannos to the last Norfel. I will speak with this wizard. Perhaps words will be of more use than a poisoned dart.” His face did not look reassuring, and if anything, his face grew darker. Alteus found himself frowning.

“Why are we being attacked?” squeaked Nagoth, more to himself than to Alteus. “First the slardinian infiltrates our forest and kills three of us, now this sorcerer kills two more. We only seek peace with other nations, and to protect our villages from harm.”

Alteus nodded. “I know, Nagoth. These are strange days. Go to Malana. Seek help. We will be here when you return.”

A shout by a guard alerted him. The wizard had been spotted.
Alteus embraced Nagoth in a fierce hug, then left his friend to approach the main gateway to his village.
He watched the sorcerer approach in strong, forceful strides. His appearance startled the Norfel. His robe was in rags, he bled through many old wounds. Yet his face seemed cast in stone – a deep, penetrating glare filled with fire and power. Alteus blanched in a sudden fear.
“Stop, and name yourself!” said Alteus, his voice cracking as his nerve faltered.
The sorcerer paid no heed, and carried on walking, his eyes not even looking at Alteus, but beyond, as if he was in some form of trance.
Several Norfel guards appeared, spears in trembling hands, looking to their leader for the command to attack this intruder. Alteus shook his head furiously, ordering the guards to back down. He did not believe the sorcerer could be subdued by their weapons. Again, he attempted to speak. His voice quivered now, the wizard was nearly upon him!
“P-please,” Alteus stammered, “We mean no harm to you. We only seek to protect our village-“
His voice trailed off as the sorcerer walked past him, not even glancing in his direction. Alteus looked in horror at the ground the man walked on: it was burning, grass dying – his very feet ignited the land in abhorrence! Alteus sensed the incredible power and aura around this man, and backed away from him. “Let him pass!” he spoke to his fellows. “Leave him be!”
Nobody argued. All eyes were on the stranger. All faces held frightened awe. Everyone could detect the dark magicks of the one before them. It guaranteed respect. Deep down, each Norfel knew that if they attacked, they would be dead before their body hit the ground.
Lorkayn ignored the scurrying of the creatures before him. They were of no importance. Vergail. The name pierced his mind, wrapped around his soul. The images had coursed through him: a great library, a city made of white and gold marble, a great cathedral with colossal spires arching towards the very stars themselves in their monumental height, and a road – a route to this great city. All these images and details embedded themselves in his brain, and although he did not understand their origin, he knew he must follow the map they had created. They showed him the way to this high priestess, and to his future. He could not deny any of this.
A growl stopped his reveries and brought him back to the forest. What was this? He walked past a lizard man, held captive by a gold chain attached to a statue.
In a rush his mind knew who the statue represented: Untaba, god of survival, the god Vergail herself served! He frowned slightly at his knowledge, and tried to sense the magicks spinning within him that told him all these facts. He snarled in anger and frustration. Something was leading him to this priestess; he was not in any control. This manipulation by an unseen hand irked the sorcerer immensely, but he knew he had to follow. The city and the priestess would have all the answers he sought.
Perhaps, he surmised, this creature would be of some use to him. It was chained by Untaba’s servants. If it was an enemy of the god, Vergail would be pleased to see it brought before her own eyes to inflict her own justice. It would be a gift, from him to her. The thought pleased him.
Lorkayn moved closer to the reptilian, chanting softly to himself. The creature hissed at him, forked tongue lashing out at him in disdain. His spell complete, Lorkayn pointed at the chain. It snapped in two, releasing the Slardinian from his captivity.
The Slardinian’s eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious. The mages of Elrohen feared and hated his kind. Why would this one aid him? Hissing, the lizard man crouched down, tail coiled between his legs like an angry snake, ready to pounce if need arose.
Lorkayn whispered words, casually walking toward the Slardinian. He was unconcerned by the threat before him, as if the reptilian was as harmful to him as soft drizzle was upon his face. Growling, the Slardinian bared its fangs, drool dripping from its vicious canines. It was his final warning to the wizard to stay back.
Alteus and his followers watched on in silence, knowing better than to interfere. The Norfel knew when to be bold, and when to stay quiet. It was their secret stealth like nature that had kept them from extinction.
The wizard leaned forward, and patted the Slardinian on the head. Alteus expected the reptilian to lunge for the sorcerer’s throat, but he did not. In fact, he noted with unease the reptilian’s wagging tail – a sign of welcome and greeting.
The spell complete, the sorcerer looked into the Slardinian’s eyes. They were glazed, as if not seeing the world properly. Smiling, he knew his incantation had charmed the creature to his will. He would follow the wizard and do his bidding until he was released from the spell. Confident, Lorkayn turned and walked away from the clearing, his new pet, the Slardinian, walking behind him silently.
Behind them, the Norfel drew sharp breaths of relief. Alteus was glad to see them both go. He would mourn the deaths of his fellows that had died today, but would celebrate the fact that Rannos still stood intact. He, like the others, knew how close their village had become to annihilation: the power of the wizard was palpable, and unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
He prayed for Nagoth, and hoped he had done the right thing in sending his scout to Malana for aid. “May Untaba guide you,” he murmured for his friend, bowing before the statue.
The gold statue of Untaba looked on, unmoving, staring at the retreating wizard as he receded into the distance. At its feet, the broken chain slowly began to disintegrate into dust, the spell that had split it asunder weaving its last black magicks upon its metal.
Overhead, thunder boomed across the gathering clouds in the sky.

6. City Of Gold
 
 

Keldoran emerged from the mage’s small tent, acknowledging the watery sun with a slight nod. It had been quite a night; he did not think any of them had slept a wink. Following the departure of the strange storm, the rain had stopped abruptly. The mage had urged them to try and get some rest. He had sounded nervous, which, in a mage, caused immense concern to the rest of them. Mages were
never
afraid, they were heroes of the people, protectors and solid in all things. To see one of them genuinely worried about the night’s events made them seem, well, only human.

He was not sure why, but he sensed a foul tinge to the morning. The air he breathed appeared thin, and reeked of an odour he could not place – almost like charred, rotting meat over a fire. Keldoran noted the trees at the side of the road swaying, althought he could not detect any breeze. Something was wrong, the land was trying to tell him.

As he stared at the trees, trying to determine if they were actually moving or if it was just his addled imagination playing tricks, a groan issued from the tent. Slowly, Relb poked his head through the entrance. “What time is it?” he muttered sleepily.

“Time to get up,” smiled Keldoran. He was used to early mornings, having been raised on a farm. He noticed the pained expression in Relb’s eyes. “Hey, at least the sun is out,” he continued, trying to sound uplifting.

A noise to the left of the tent alerted him, and he saw the juggler, Corg, sat on the road cross-legged, eyes closed, rocking slightly from side to side. Keldoran’s eyes widened in surprise – he had thought he was first up.

Corg was mumbling to himself softly. It seemed to be some sort of early prayer ritual. Not knowing anything about the Bu’kep race, Keldoran thought it best to leave the juggler alone for the moment. Walking away, Keldoran moved to the edge of the road to relieve his morning’s water.

He had barely finished when his eyes caught movement behind the trees that marked the road’s edge. Before he could say anything, a green humanoid burst forth from the trees, almost knocking him over in its rush to get to the road.

Keldoran stepped backwards in alarm. He had never seen a creature like it! Green skinned, with long, green hair tumbling down to shoulder level, its face seemed human enough, but with long pointy teeth. Its hands were clawed, and it raised these talons before him, as if to protect itself. It wore a brown tunic of some kind, and brown leggings. Its feet had no boots, and Keldoran shivered at the sight of the hooked talon toes.

Corg leapt to his feet, aware instantly of the creature, even though his eyes had been closed. “Norfel!” he hissed angrily at the humanoid, gesturing to Keldoran to back away. “Forest dweller, you are not welcome on this road. Away, back to the trees that spawned you!”

Keldoran was shocked by Corg’s sudden anger and venom – it was unlike the juggler’s previous day’s good humour.

The Norfel froze, eyeing Corg in equal distaste. “Bu’kep,” it spat. “My day has been cursed indeed!”
Corg’s small red horn upon his forehead seemed to flush a deeper crimson at this insult. He opened his mouth to retort, but a shout from the mage’s tent stopped him. All eyes turned to see the mage walk towards them, with a clearly concerned look on his normally stoic features.
“Corg, be at ease. I know the enmity between the Bu’kep and Norfel races, but this does not help our cause. Plus, this one looks in need of assistance.”
“A mage of Malana!” breathed the Norfel in clear excitement and relief. “So I
was
right! The carriage I spied from the woods was a mage’s carriage. Thank Untaba I have found one of you so quickly!”
“You seek a high mage from the white towers of Malana?” The mage’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yes!” exclaimed the Norfel. “I need your help.”
Yvanna and Relb both appeared outside the tent now, staring at the newcomer in shock and awe. Neither of them had seen a Norfel before, although they had often heard tales of green skinned humanoids living in the forests around their village. Childhood myths, it seemed, were becoming full reality on this trip. Relb could not stop his mouth from gaping wide open.
Corg snarled, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at the Norfel, but said nothing. Keldoran could see his burning rage through his eyes, which shone with an inner malice for the stranger. Keldoran stumbled back involuntarily from the Bu’kep.
“Corg, pack the tents,” ordered the mage, obviously seeing the juggler’s discomfort. “I will handle this.” He motioned for Keldoran and the others to assist the Bu’kep. The mage waited until they had moved back to the tents before speaking with the Norfel.
The Norfel, Nagoth, informed him of his mission. The tale of the sorcerer flowed from his mouth in haste, how he had come to their forest, violating the known pact between the Norfel and the high mages, and worse, he told of the cruel murder of several of his own kind by the hands of the sorcerer. The Norfel clearly worried for his village, and his clan living there, and prayed that the sorcerer had not done any further damage. He also spoke of the Slardinian that they had captured.
“So you see my concerns,” finished Nagoth excitedly. “Will you help me talk to the high mages about this?”
“Did this sorcerer dress in our familiar robes?” said the mage, indicating his grey attire.
“No, although it was difficult to tell as his robes were in tatters. They were black, I think, and he had long hair of the same colour – not white, like yours.”
“A black robe?” the mage’s face grew as dark as the colour he had just mentioned. “The mages of Malana do not wear black. This wizard is not one of our brethren. Yet the magick you described him using – a form of transformation, altering the structure of his hand to pass through flesh, then turning it solid to cause damage and death, is something unheard of.”
The Norfel shuddered at the reminder of his friends’ grisly deaths. “Then you’re saying you couldn’t do the same spell?”
The mage nodded. “I, and others of my brethren, can transform objects, including flesh, into something else. However, to alter my fist, say, from a solid to a nontangible state and back again,
at will
, is a feat I cannot match.”
Nagoth shifted his feet nervously.
The mage continued. “You have done well to seek me out, Norfel. This is a grave matter. I dare not confront this strange conjuror alone. We must make all haste to reach Malana by nightfall. I will arrange counsel with Suralubus, our leader. We will then decide on a course of action. Please accompany us. I will require you to tell your story in Malana.”
“Thank you,” Nagoth stammered. “I had planned to travel south of this road, then across the woods to the edge of Malana. Norfel are best not seen to the human eye, and I sought shelter within the trees. I will go with you – none would worry about a Norfel in a mage’s custody.”
“Indeed. You will have to sit with the others in the carriage. There’s no other place.” The mage nodded his head meaningfully at Corg. “Will this be a problem to you?”
Nagoth looked at the Bu’kep warily. “I will keep out of his way if he will grant me the same courtesy.”
Satisfied, the mage departed to prepare his horse for the journey. He walked past the others just as they pushed the tent fabric into the back of the carriage. “Provide room in the carriage for the Norfel. He has an urgent need to travel to Malana, and now so do us all. I will not stop at Roth tonight – we carry on through the night until we reach the city.”
This news was greeted harshly by two: Corg, because he had to share a carriage with a Norfel, and Yvanna, who complained bitterly to the mage about the long journey. She desperately wanted to stay in the comfort of the tavern at Roth, especially as they had got no sleep the previous night. Hers and the juggler’s concerns were ignored.
Keldoran was more pragmatic. He had seen the wild eyed fear in the Norfel. “What is happening in the wood?” he asked the mage. There must be some reason for the urgent rush to the city.
The mage turned to look at him, a glint of respect shown in his eyes for the young man. Keldoran flushed with pride. “A stranger, a wizard of some sorts, has murdered several of the Norfel’s race. He is not one of our brethren. The Norfel also claimed to have seen and captured a Slardinian, a lizard man from the south continent of Tegul. These facts cannot be ignored – both are strangers not wanted here in Emorthos. I must seek assistance with the council in Malana.”
Keldoran nodded acceptance, his eyes wide at the news. Corg and Yvanna exchanged looks, suitably cowed. Relb looked confused and worried.
“We ride,” said the mage. “Be alert. With luck, we will reach Malana by dawn.” The matter settled, the mage slipped an apple to his horse, which grunted and devoured it in one bite. He then climbed gracefully onto his steed.
The others stood for a moment, suddenly fearful, before clambering onto the carriage. The Norfel followed silently behind, sitting as far away from Corg as possible, although the inside of the carriage was indeed cramped with the five of them. The juggler refused to even acknowledge Nagoth’s presence.
Keldoran sensed the tension in the carriage, but he could feel the land of Elrohen waking outside. As they burst into motion, the carriage rocking to and fro on the bumpy road, he looked out at the trees. There was not longer any doubt in his mind.
They
were
swaying.