Sinners of Magic (33 page)

‘
We found it
in a small hut near the area called Sorin’s Copse, sire,’ the
soldier explained, looking pleased.

Forusian gave him a long, cold
stare. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t still there, hiding somewhere?’

The commander looked
resolute.

‘
No, sire,
there were no signs of life.’

‘
Who owns
that piece of land?’ the king asked, taking the hair from the
soldier’s outstretched hand and rubbing it between his thumb and
forefinger.

The soldier hesitated and the
blood drained from his face.

‘
We don’t
know the dweller’s name, sire, but we thought you would have some
record of them in your deeds of ownership.’

For a moment Forusian fell
silent and the atmosphere crackled with mounting tension.

‘
Well done,
men,’ Forusian said, at last, turning to face them with a dazzling
smile. ‘You have found me a lead although not the girl, I will make
sure you are well rewarded.’

A look of relief registered on
all the soldiers’ stricken faces and they each broke out into
toothless grins.

Forusian absentmindedly chewed
the inside of his cheek in concentration, a habit he seldom
displayed in public.

‘
Leave me!’
he ordered, shooing them like flies towards the door. ‘You have
done all you can – for now.’

Without hesitation the soldiers
made their leave, filing out one by one and heading for their
billets. Forusian called to the main guard.

‘
Have those
imbeciles executed,’ he commanded, his eyes turning black with evil
intent. ‘Yet again they fail me.’

The guard left and Forusian
made his way down the stone staircase and straight to his vault.
Once inside he lit several sconces and the room blazed with bright
light. His eyes soon adjusted to the glare and he flashed his gaze
cross the interior, checking all was as he had left it.

The vault throbbed like an
Aladdin’s Cave, bursting at the seams with many stolen artefacts
and trinkets. It had been divided into three sections, each
committed to one division of his wealth. These sections consisted
of gold (including jewels), magic spells and land.

He walked over to a small box,
opened it and quickly removed the contents. He retrieved a piece of
jewellery and, placing it between his fingers, stroked the
magnificent work of art. Mesmerised by its beauty, his eyes
gleaming, he drank in its wealth and took an involuntary breath
when the exquisitely cut stone set in its centre sent a radiant
pyramid of colour straight through his fingers and he felt the
surge of its kinetic force. He wished he knew how the amulet
worked, but he also knew he would never know its secret. Closing
his eyes, he tried to connect to its power but felt no tingling
sensation and he became infuriated. The amulet could be his
greatest weapon but only if Crystal helped him to use it.

He pulled a face, his mind
flooding with images of the princess, and then his half-made army
and the blue slimy body parts of the gruesome goblins flashed
before his eyes, pushing thoughts of Crystal aside. His latest
experiment was cultivated from pieces of dead tissue from those
he’d had murdered in the past and he needed the power from the
amulet very soon or everything he had dreamed of would die of decay
and be destroyed. Pressure was building behind his eyes and with
some reluctance he dropped the amulet back into the box and
promptly closed the lid.

His day of triumph would come
soon enough he vowed and when he married Crystal, the necklace and
its power would be his for the taking, for he would force his bride
to use the amulet once she became his queen. A desperate stench
poured from his mouth when he produced a sudden roar of laughter
caused by his darkest desires.

He turned and made his way to a
darkened corner that resembled a small library. Row upon row of
long, wooden shelves held much in the way of brown leather-bound
books, books which calculated his vast fortune and ill-gotten
wealth, including extensive documentation on all his tenants and
owners living on his land.

A small ladder lay forgotten on
the floor; he clicked his fingers and the wooden steps flew to his
hand. He grasped them firmly and then placed them in the very
centre of the bookshelves. Each row represented a county within his
own realm and he called out to the volume which contained the
details of Sorin’s Copse.

A large book flew from one of
the shelves and levitated in front of him, the pages acting as
wings whilst it sat poised in mid-air, making the air stir with the
faintest of breezes.

Snatching the book with his
fingers, Forusian placed the heavy tome under his arm and made his
way back down the ladder. He reached out and expertly extinguished
the torches one by one before leaving the vault with a lighter
step. Filled with enthusiasm, he made his way to the comfort of his
chamber. His lips were set firm when he closed the door and then
headed for his desk, slamming the volume down before grabbing a
seat. He meticulously turned over each page, drinking in
long-forgotten information, and whilst the moon began to glow, he
smiled a somewhat chilling smile when he placed his finger upon a
name.

‘
Oh, my
lord,’ he gasped, remembering long years past. He snapped the book
closed and immediately called for his guard.

Chapter
21

The sun was almost set when
Bridgemear reached the kingdom of the Nonhawk. An orange glow was
throwing itself against the outer walls of the castle, giving the
evening some added warmth, and Bridgemear envied those who would
have time to sit and enjoy it.

He kicked his horse on and drew
his sword tighter around his waist, checking to see if his cloak
still hid it from view. He knew he would not be made welcome within
the castle walls, but they would not refuse him entry. Bracken was
not far from sight, having followed at a safe distance. There was
something magnetic in Bridgemear’s mannerisms which drew Bracken to
him; he felt curious about the wizard and now ceased playing
tricks, keeping a close watch over the mage instead.

Bridgemear nodded to the sprite
when he left the safety of the trees and made his way to the main
gatehouse. He toyed with the idea of covering his face and using
his cloak to hide his identity as well as his sword, but to most he
was already a stranger and so he hid the blade instead. A rush of
air brushed against his leg and Bridgemear looked down to see the
wood sprite at his feet.

‘
What are you
doing here?’ demanded the mage, annoyed at seeing the sprite. ‘Were
you not told to stay in the forest?’

Bracken set his mouth in a firm
scowl, staring fiercely upon the outer walls which were littered
with silver helmets.

‘
You
shouldn’t go in there,’ he muttered, folding his arms against his
chest. ‘You know, it’s far too dangerous.’

Bracken turned and faced the
wizard without fear of reprisal. Their eyes locked and for a brief
moment Bridgemear was able to observe the courage harboured deep
behind them.

‘
You’re being
followed too, were you aware?’ Bracken added, when the wizard still
refused to answer.

Bridgemear sighed.

‘
Yes, I am
aware, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘
Aren’t you
the least bit scared?’ asked Bracken, his eyes wide in
confusion.

‘
No, of
course not, because those who are following me are hopefully my
friends, but thank you for your concern.’

‘
Are you
sure?’ Bracken asked, still unconvinced, ‘because they’ve been
following you for quite some time.’

‘
Yes, I’m
sure, but again, thanks for bringing it to my attention.’
Bridgemear nodded, patting the sprite’s head like a loyal hound,
somehow touched by the creature’s sincerity towards him.

‘
Go home,
little one,’ he advised, nudging his horse forward. ‘There’s
nothing here for you but trouble.’

‘
Why do you
feel you have to do everything alone?’ Bracken suddenly snapped,
becoming cross. ‘Why won’t you let me help you?’

Bridgemear pulled sharply on
the reins, causing his horse to throw its head. He turned in his
saddle to face the sprite, his hard expression softening.

‘
It is not
that I wish to do it all alone,’ he explained, with a sigh, ‘it’s
just that I am used to being alone and that’s something completely
different.’

‘
Then let me
help you,’ Bracken pleaded, making his way once again to
Bridgemear’s side.

‘
Why are you
so insistent?’ asked Bridgemear, almost wavering from his decision,
‘You know you owe me nothing.’

Bracken’s eyes became
hooded.

‘
I simply
believe in your kind and all that you stand for,’ he said, relaxing
his shoulders. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ Bridgemear shook his
head.

‘
This isn’t
the forest,’ he said, pointing towards the trees. ‘This is not a
game I can stop when the going gets tough. Go, my friend, keep
yourself safe and be glad you have the chance to live another
day.’

Once again Bridgemear kicked
his horse on, but this time it broke into a trot, leaving the
sprite rooted to the spot. Bracken called out to the magician when
the distance between them grew vast.

‘
I will wait
for your return and if you need to hide within the forest I will be
there to shelter you,’ he shouted. ‘Simply call my name and I will
come to your aid.’

There was no reply from the
wizard and Bracken sniffed. Still, he meant what he said. He would
wait in the seclusion of the trees for Bridgemear to leave the
castle just in case he needed his help. Moments later he melted
into the trees and became invisible once again to the naked eye. He
would watch for those who followed the mage, those Bridgemear
claimed were his friends, and should the need arise and they wanted
his help, he would be ready and waiting to lend a hand.

*

Not long after Bracken returned
to the forest, Bridgemear found he had entered the gates to the
castle without much fuss. The Nonhawk guards watched all who
entered, their eyes alert and heavy with distrust, and they glared
at the stranger with suspicious eyes, but saw nothing to alert them
to any danger, believing he was not a wanted man.

Once inside the castle walls
Bridgemear noted the wave of activity which seemed to follow him
through the gates. He guided his horse between the narrow streets
and the intolerable swarm of village people, whilst trying to find
somewhere half decent to stay for the night. Almost everyone he
passed acknowledged him in some way, born of respect; he received
many a courteous nod from a noble born or a low bow from the
servants who adorned the busy streets, but nothing but blank
expressions from the Nonhawk soldiers themselves.

He eventually dismounted and
entered a dark lobby, and without taking off his cloak he made his
way to a tatty desk. He studied the layout of the building, noting
its disrepair, and inwardly felt displeased.

A nervous creature pulled
himself from behind a discoloured red curtain and bowed in
greeting. It was obvious he had once been tall, but his twisted
spine had seen to that and Bridgemear thought his eyes were far too
close together, giving him the uncomplimentary resemblance of a
street rat.

‘
Keeper, a
room,’ Bridgemear demanded, with a sharp edge to his
voice.

‘
Certainly,
sire, will that be just for the night?’

‘
No, a few
days.’

‘
Oh, not just
passing through then?’

‘
Yes,
exactly; do you mind, the key?’

‘
Sorry, where
are my manners? Please follow me and I will take you straight to
your room.’

The innkeeper’s trembling hand
grabbed a brass key from off an old, wooden peg, which he attempted
to shine with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. The owner appeared to
walk with a strange stoop and his neck looked as displaced as his
spine.

Bridgemear wondered how this
creature had managed to survive living within the Nonhawk
community. The Nonhawks were not known for their caring nature or
willingness to help anyone less fortunate than themselves and
Bridgemear’s instincts led him to believe that things were perhaps
not quite what they seemed.

‘
I have
friends who will be following shortly,’ Bridgemear stated, climbing
the stairs two at a time. ‘Can you put them close by?’

‘
Will there
be many?’

‘
No, no more
than two.’

‘
Consider it
done, my lord, for I have plenty of rooms at my disposal,’
acknowledged his host.

Bridgemear tossed three gold
coins up into the air and they landed in the keeper’s outstretched
hand.

‘
You’re very
gracious,’ said the landlord, slipping them into his pocket and
tapping it with his hand.

‘
Your room is
ready and right this way.’

He took the wizard to the
second floor and opened the first door on the right. The door
wouldn’t open easily and the keeper had to push hard with his
shoulder to gain entry.

‘
It’s a
little stiff,’ he said, his face turning scarlet, ‘I will bring
something to fix it, once you are settled.’

‘
No need to
bother me, the room is fine,’ Bridgemear said, stepping inside. He
found it to be clean and tidy and smelling distinctively of
lavender.