A Wizard's Tears (23 page)

The demon let forth a huge scream, the sound of which caused the cavern itself to quake and shudder. The white light from the staff had scarred the beast with intense cold, so cold it had burned its scaly hide. Injured, the demon fell backwards, crashing onto the ground in anguish and pain.

Keldoran instinctively pieced together what had just happened. The demon had tried to claim the staff as its own, trying to absorb the powers of the Ice Lords, but it had failed. The mighty land magicks embedded into the staff had lashed out at this alien power trying to take it over, with blinding results. The demon had been wounded by the staff, and, in its final moments, protecting itself, the staff destroyed itself rather than be consumed by the evil beast’s power.

This final trick of the Ice Lords gave Keldoran a chance. For a while at least, the demon paid him no heed. It writhed on the ground, tentacles caressing its injuries, the great creature screaming, the sound ripping the air with its intensity. He had to get the priestess out of here, and escape, and he had to do it now. There would not be another chance.

Yet, he could not go back the way he came. His boulder would move no longer. His magick, although still burning inside of him, was too small and weak, and without the staff to control it and focus it, he was nothing. Keldoran could have wept at that moment. He knelt down and lifted the priestess up, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and half staggered, half dragged the unconscious woman across the ground, hoping beyond all hopes there would be another exit, a path he had not seen.

Ironically, it was the demon that saved him. The great beast, in its anguish, let loose its tentacle arms, flaying the air and walls around it as the pain from the staff bit deep into its flesh. During one such moment, one of its tentacles slammed into the side of the throne it had sat on, and such was its pain and such was its power the demon’s arm brought down the red crystals of the throne, and left a gaping hole behind.

Keldoran made it to this hole, and fell into it, pulling the unconscious priestess behind him. For a few moments he sat there, breathing hard, resting. He looked around, and could see nothing but crystals, each of them aglow with a soft, red light. The hole he had entered ended a short foot downward, in a wall of more of these crystals. His heart sank, realising his escape route had been cut off.

Yet, he could see gaps between these crystals. They were not set together, yet merely had fallen into the position they were in. Using his feet, Keldoran kicked at the wall of crystals, and was relieved to see them move aside, showing more of a tunnel behind.

He clawed his way through the rubble of crystals, the red light guiding him further into the tunnel. His progress was slow, marred by dragging the priestess. Eventually he had to stop, his heart beating so fast he feared it would explode from inside his chest.

He could still hear the demon behind him thrashing around. He gave thanks to the Ice Lords, that his life had again been spared. Yet, for what purpose, he could not say. How could he drag this woman along here? Where would this tunnel take him? He had practically failed anyhow. He had no idea where he was, or how he would find the sorcerer. He wished Vergail would wake up, perhaps give him some pointers. Yet she was hurt badly, and sleep seemed the only thing she could do for now.

Pain stabbed at him, and Keldoran, with a groan, realised the land magick, held in check before by the crystal staff, once again flared anew inside of him. So, he would die from his magick. Without the staff, and without a conduit, his body was doomed. It was just a question of when.

Still, better to die in peace, by himself, than in the clutches of a foul demon, tormenting and ravaging his body. He struggled to move, and carry the burden of the priestess. He had to keep going. With pain and tiredness, he clambered onward.

Finally he collapsed, unable to continue, the pain in his stomach great, and his muscles too tired from his exertions. His last thought as darkness descended upon him was, at least, that he had travelled a good way away from the demon’s chamber, and he hoped they would be safe, for a time.

Sleep, brave souls.
Let the darkness smother you and bind you.
Let the warmth of the night entice and grant you freedom. Dream, and dream good dreams.
In this emotionless void, your voices are still to be heard.

When Keldoran woke, these words echoed in his mind, the voice of Vo’Loth, perhaps. He could not tell, but he felt the Ice Lord was still with him, somehow, and it was a good feeling. The land magick burned within him, and he coughed, violently, and choked out his own blood.

A pair of hands were on him immediately, a warm prayer being said out loud, murmured with respect and thanks. He looked up to see Vergail, awake, and trying to heal him. His pain, however, did not lessen. His malady seemed beyond the priestess’ ability to heal. After a few moments, she appeared to realise this, her face turning incredibly sad. Blinking back tears angrily, Vergail turned away so Keldoran could not see her weakness.

“It is ok,” spoke Keldoran softly to her. “No power can save me from my illness. I am dying, and there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

“Untaba could have saved you,” replied Vergail, her voice thick with sadness. “Yet now he has forsaken me.”
“I do not even think Untaba could save me,” answered Keldoran gloomily. “It is over, and I expect no mercy.”
Vergail turned back to him then, her face wet with tears. She did not try to blink them away, but let them flow freely. “I will give you mercy,” she exclaimed passionately. “For saving me from the creature, I give you mercy! I am forever in your debt, young man. The beast would surely have tortured me beyond all recognition.”
Keldoran nodded. “I was lucky. It was an honour to save you. Yet, I fear, we are both doomed. I do not know where I am, and I have no strength left in me to find a way out of here.”
“It seems we are both equally out of luck,” smiled Vergail without humour. She came and sat next to him, rubbing her bare arms to keep them warm, for her robes were still in tatters. “I have been betrayed, and in such a way I cannot begin to fathom.”
“The sorcerer charmed you,” said Keldoran matter-offactly. “It was not your fault. You were lucky he did not kill you.”
“No,” said Vergail. “I am not lucky. It is true that part of me was beguiled by Lorkayn, for that is his name. Yet, I offered myself to him, and part of it was not of his doing, but of my own. I had dreamed of him, in desire, and my body had yearned for his touch. I walked away from Untaba. I
chose
this path.”
“I do not believe that,” replied Keldoran. “Your life, from everything I have been told of the great priestess of Malana, is Untaba. You would not have chosen to abandon your god, not for anyone, least of all a stranger to Elrohen, a dark sorcerer.”
“The great priestess of Malana is dead,” spat Vergail in venom. “In her place is an empty husk of a woman. A woman that loved, and gave her soul to be with the man she loved. A woman that gave away everything she held dear, to be with the man she loved. A woman that was betrayed by the man she loved. Yet, I still love him.” Keldoran looked at Vergail in shock. “Love? You’re in love with the sorcerer?” his tone was incredulous. “I do not expect, nor need your understanding. I touched the man’s soul. I saw goodness in that soul, however small. My way is clear. I must seek out Lorkayn once more, not to avenge myself, not to attack him, but to bring out that goodness, to redeem him.”
Keldoran snorted. “The sorcerer is evil, and should be attacked. If I had my power, my magick, I would strike, and attempt to kill him. The Ice Lord told me it was my destiny.”
“Then I am glad that you no longer have your power,” retorted Vergail. “You do not know what you speak of. Murder is never the way.”
Keldoran opened his mouth to argue some more, then thought about it and kept his mouth shut. What was the point? They were never going to see the sorcerer again. He was dying. The priestess may be mad, or seduced still by Lorkayn, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
Vergail stood, and looked around, hugging herself all the while. She knew the truth. It did not matter what this young man thought. There was a bond between her and Lorkayn, and there always would be. You do not mix your soul with someone and not feel a purity of self. Although she had been bitterly disappointed by his betrayal, she knew she still loved him, and would follow him to the abyss. If she could just make him see, guide him away from his evil ways, they could share such love again.
“I go to find him,” she said at last, breaking the silence.
“It is hopeless,” said Keldoran. “We have no idea where he would be.”
“I do,” she nodded grimly. “You do not share a soul with someone and not know there whereabouts. I could not sense him when he was not on this plane, but now he is here, I know exactly where he is.”
Keldoran forced himself to stand. “Where is that?”
“He is by a barrier, a portal, perhaps that is what it is, I know not. He is trying to open it, trying to get back to his own world.”
“How would we get there?” Keldoran asked, bemused and still wondering how psychotic the priestess was.
“We float. I can sense his soul, his excitement at almost reaching his goal. I can guide us to him. That is, if you are with me, and do not want to kill him.”
Keldoran looked at Vergail. The priestess must surely be mad, yet, this was a plan! It was better than sitting in this tunnel, waiting to die. If, by some amazing feat, they made it to this barrier, to the sorcerer, he would not be able to kill him even if he tried. He knew he could answer truthfully.
“I cannot say that I would not want to kill him, but I can honestly tell you that I have no power left in me to kill him. I would rather come with you, though, than stay here to rot.”
Vergail walked over to him, and kissed him softly on the forehead. “I could use the company,” she whispered. “I could not leave you here, alone, my saviour.”
It was an awkward moment for Keldoran, and he coughed uncomfortably, and not just from the pain in his stomach. He nodded at the priestess. She smiled then, a genuine smile, and his heart was warmed by her beauty. For a moment he remembered Yvanna, and how, sometimes, her beauty had kept him going. Silly thoughts, he decided, but he could not help but smile back. Vergail, in a twist of fate, helped Keldoran along the tunnel, her strength gradually returning. She had been injured by her fall into the demon’s lair, and her subsequent torture. She was bruised and battered, but very much alive, and her new mission gave her sustenance and a drive to carry on. Her time unconscious had helped her recuperate, and now, she gave Keldoran, who was beginning to flag as the land magick within him took hold, a much needed hand.
The tunnel soon ended, opening out once more into the endless void of the plane. They stood on the side of this great piece of land, in reality a colossal boulder, and looked on at the drifting clouds and the occasional burst of lightning. Here, the sky was not blue, but a misty, depressing grey.
Vergail took hold of Keldoran’s hand and stepped off the boulder. Keldoran cried out as they plummeted down, but, after a few moments, their speed slowed and they found themselves floating.
The priestess winked at Keldoran. “I had foreseen this,” she proclaimed. “Lorkayn came this way, and floated, as we do. I know it to be true. Do you believe me yet? I have mixed with his spirit, and he with mine. We are one, on this plane. We know each other’s movements.” Keldoran did not reply immediately. He did not disbelieve, and yet, despite all the wonders and magicks he had seen, he could not bring himself to accept Vergail’s notion of souls entwining and becoming one. “So,” he asked finally, “if what you say is true, then the sorcerer will know we have escaped from the demon, and are seeking him out.”
“Yes,” said Vergail. “But that is of little consequence. We are no threat to him, and he is concentrating on his task ahead.”
Onward they drifted, unhurriedly, the winds of the plane controlling their movement and speed. Vergail angled her body and guided herself and Keldoran’s direction in the void, moving towards where she had felt Lorkayn move. As such, they cut through the air, the wind all about them, whirling and whipping around them. After a time, Vergail let out a whoop of excitement. “We are close!”
Keldoran looked onward, into the void, and could just make out a shimmering effect on the horizon. It was as if the sun had just set there, for the edge of his sight was a myriad of colours, mainly yellow and red, shifting and sparkling as he looked at them.
“What is that?” asked Keldoran, pointing at the strange colours in the sky.
“That must be the barrier,” answered Vergail excitedly. “Lorkayn is there, I know it. That is the path to his home land.”
Keldoran was beginning to believe in the priestess’ words. They inched ever closer to the shimmering effect in the sky. It was beautiful. Red and gold mixed, entwined and glowed together. It was as a sunset sometimes paints the sky with colour, and yet, it was alien, subtly different. Keldoran forgot his pain momentarily, and stared in wonder at the great barrier, the edge of the plane.
“There!” shouted Vergail, pointing out her finger and wiggling it animatedly.
Keldoran followed her finger, and yes! He could make out a figure in front of this amazing phenomenon, a black silhouette at the nucleus of red and gold. As they travelled ever closer, he could see quite clearly it was the sorcerer, the one he had been told to kill.
Lorkayn turned to view the odd couple approaching him. As Vergail had expected, he must of known of their coming. He grinned over at them, and Keldoran wondered if this grin was one of grudging respect for their survival, or simply one of complete madness.
Vergail spoke, her voice echoing across the ether to the sorcerer. “My love,” she shouted. “You may have forsaken me, but I have returned. Our spirits are as one. You must know this; you must feel the same emotions as I. Come back to me, and let us unite once more. You can still find love. Seek it out, and revel in the goodness I can see shining out of you.”
Lorkayn ignored the priestess completely, turning back as if the sight of them was as insignificant as watching a fly land on the palm of one’s hand, to be swatted away without a second thought. In a fluid motion, he pushed his hands through the undulating, shimmering colours in front of him. The colours changed, growing darker, turning dark red, then brown, then black. In an instant a gap appeared in the barrier, and Keldoran knew the sorcerer had found his way through. Without waiting for them to arrive, Lorkayn leapt into the hole, and disappeared from the void.
“He did not respond to you,” said Keldoran softly to the priestess. “He ignored you. That must be your answer. He does not love you. He has never loved you. He just used you and your power to get here, so he could return to his world. I…am sorry.”
Keldoran could see the slump in Vergail’s shoulders, and could sense the despair which practically leaked out of her. Stubbornly, she shook her head, and fixed her eyes firmly on the hole in the barrier. “He could not hear me, “ she said. “My voice was but a whisper on this wind. I must follow him, to the very end.”
Keldoran did not respond. He would not drag this woman into despair. He had seen enough of that in his short lifetime. Feeling the pain building in his chest, he closed his eyes and knew he was losing control. Soon, the power would consume him. It was strange, but the thought did not alarm him. He was no longer afraid. He knew his end was soon, and he welcomed it. It was the next stage of his journey. “To the very end…” he muttered.
Vergail looked at him then, and could see his pain. She took his hand, and squeezed it. “We must follow, for both of our sakes.”
Keldoran opened her eyes, and saw her face bathed in the glow of the barrier around them. She looked like an angel to his tired eyes. He merely smiled at her, and allowed himself to be led, without protest, into the hole left by the sorcerer.