A Wizard's Tears (5 page)

Unbeknown to the sorcerer, two pale green eyes looked across the glade at him. A small, green skinned humanoid, camouflaged on the green grass where he lay, watched the newcomer with frightened interest. He gasped audibly when he saw Lorkayn touch the tree, and make it wither and die.
It had been a strange few days, and now it seemed, a strange night. First, he had encountered that Slardinian scum on the borders of the forest, and had lain a trap for it. They smelled, and were barbaric. They seldom travelled this far, preferring the southern, hotter climes. Why he had been here was a worry, for the Slardinians always hated his own kind, and normally killed on sight. Shuddering, he hoped there would not be any more. Indeed, that was why he was here, on the outskirts of the forest, to scout for impending trouble.

Yet now, he found something far worse than any Slardinian. What manner of being was he watching, across the clearing? He must return to the village and warn the others.

He was a Norfel, one of the tree dwellers, as the other races called them. Small in form, they had long arms, useful for grabbing onto bark and trunk. Their hands curved into fierce talons for holding and cutting. Green skinned, they were the colour of grass and leaf, blending in perfectly with their surroundings. Sharp, pincer like teeth gave them a scary appearance, and as such they were outcasts to the humans of the world, called monsters and wicked, evil demons by those who did not understand them. In reality, they were docile, peaceful people, seeking only to protect their young and live happily in the forests of Elrohen.

Scurrying away hurriedly, but silently, crawling across the grass on his hands and feet, the Norfel decided that his time scouting was over; it was time to report back to his village, and quickly.

Her arms arched out in front of her, clutching the pillows of her bed intensely, as the dream gripped her mind. He was coming for her. Soft, careful footsteps measured his approach, his black robe swaying slightly as he walked. She could smell wild orchids. Her eyes opened wide in alarm at his presence in her antechamber, a place sacred and forbidden to any except her. Mind racing, not understanding how he came to be here, but feeling she should know, the thought passed from her mind like sand through an hourglass. It only mattered that he was here, and her excitement rose.

A stranger, a beautiful dark stranger, with impenetrable black eyes, she felt her body quiver in a sudden surge of emotion. She sat upright on her bed where she had slumbered, gathering her sheets around her naked body so he could not see her, or indeed, her aroused nipples. Her breath became ragged, and she forced herself to take a deep intake of air, to try and assuage her body’s mounting urges.

He said nothing, merely smiling as he came to the foot of her bed. She opened her mouth to utter something, but her words were instantly forgotten as his hands moved slowly down to his robe’s sash, and started to untie it. Her gasp when he shed his robe to the floor was audible. He wore nothing underneath, and she gazed in longing at his fit, muscular body. There were no blemishes or hair to his skin, save for one small mark on his left shoulder, what looked like a small tattoo of some kind. She could not make it out, but then, she did not pay much attention to the tattoo.

She was about to shout for her guards to remove this man from her inner sanctum, but words hung on her throat. All she managed was an audible whimper, which she regretted instantly, as it showed her mounting fear blatantly to this stranger.

Suddenly he leaned forward and grabbed her sheets, pulling them roughly aside. Her naked form appeared to his eyes, and, transfixed by his action, she made no move to conceal herself. Smiling, he sat down on the bed beside her, his face angling downward to kiss her own. Closing her eyes, she waited for the kiss. Although her heart fluttered wildly, her body ached and longed for his touch…

Vergail, high priestess of Malana, the city of gold, awoke with a start. She let out a deep breath, and blinked in alarm. Now, that was a dream like she had never experienced before! It was forbidden within her religion to even think of such acts, let alone realise them in such graphic detail in her mind. She was glad she had managed to rouse herself before the dream continued on to even more lewdness. Or was she? Was this her subconscious mind telling her it was time to take a lover; that her body could no longer tolerate the celibacy? Snorting, she climbed out of bed and walked to her full length mirror, which was part of many items of opulence adorning her chamber. A silly dream was all it was, nothing more.

She surveyed herself in her mirror. A tall, athletic build looked back at her. She had always looked after her body, made sure it was in excellent condition. As high priestess, her duties involved many public appearances, and it would not do at all to see an unfit body waddling around in her station. She flicked back her long black hair, which came down to her waist, and smiled to herself. If, indeed, her celibacy ended, and it would only end once the council appointed a high priest for her to wed, he would be a lucky man. Her breasts were a good size too, firm and smooth skinned. Quite a catch, she thought, without a hint of modesty.

Gathering her red robe, Vergail dressed and left her sanctum, letting the dream slip from her memory and be replaced by the much more important issues of her duties.

Nagoth, the Norfel scout that had been witness to Lorkayn earlier, burst into his village in a fast run that he had kept up for a good hour.

The village had been named Rannos by the Norfel elder and founder of the place, Alteus. It was a small dwelling, carved out of the forest and trees with loving care. Wooden homes, richly decorated and painted in bronze and copper, stretched out into the forest, forming paths between them and avenues where the Norfel traded and moved. Lanterns shone from the open windows and porches, casting a dull but vibrant glow of life to the village.

Smells of food and smoke tantalised Nagoth’s senses, and he realised briefly how hungry he was. His mind immediately turned to the more pressing matter of his report to Alteus, and he sprinted down the main road of the village, almost toppling over some of his friends talking in the street.

He found Alteus outside, in the centre of the street, where a circular area had been constructed, with homes aligned in a perfect circle all the way round. In the centre, a tall wooden statue stood, polished and embossed in flecks of gold. It depicted an artist’s point of view of the God of survival, Untaba: a tall, muscular man, with gold hair cascading down in curls to his shoulder blades. At the foot of this statue, which was at least nine feet tall, was a golden chain that had been soldered on from the hand of the God to the ground. The chain ended in a large gold ring that wrapped around a prisoner’s neck. In this case, it was the turn of the captured Slardinian they had found earlier, roaming their forest without permission.

Alteus wore a blue tunic, which showed him as village leader. He also wore grey, velvety leggings, made with fashionable material. His dark green hair grew long, down to his shoulders. A chiselled chin and slanting eyes gave him an intelligent, cunning look.

“Welcome back, Nagoth,” greeted Alteus as his scout sped into the clearing. “You’re just in time for the feeding!”
He gestured to two other Norfel, who were approaching the Slardinian carefully. In each of their hands were chunks of raw meat, the only fitting meal for their prisoner, it seemed. They also held long wooden spears. Obviously feeding a Slardinian required one to have weapons.
Nagoth stopped his run, and was about to speak, when Alteus stopped him with another gesture from his hand. “Be careful, the two of you” he said to his fellows. “It’s his first meal, and I’m sure he’s ravenous. Don’t get too close. Slardinians are not known for their gratitude. At least we, in our honest, compassionate way, would feed a prisoner. If we were in Slardinian territory, they would kill us on the spot.”
The Slardinian was an imposing sight. Reptilian, the Slardinians walked on their hind legs like humans, but they had a curved, wicked tail that could be used as a potent weapon. Incredibly strong, they had amazing speed and strength and were therefore feared throughout Elrohen as the fierce fighters they were. Moreover, they had no compassion and enjoyed killing, like true predators. This one wore nothing more than a tattered, brown loincloth. The Slardinian’s face ended in a lizard like snout, and this one’s green eyes narrowed with hidden cunning as the two Norfel came closer. His tongue slithered in and out between his lips, like a snake. Crouching down, the Slardinian waited.
One of the Norfel crept ever closer, one hand outstretched with the piece of meat, that stank in the evening air. In his other hand, he pointed his spear in warning at the Slardinian. Nervously, he tossed the meat down in front of the reptilian, and started to creep backwards, all too slowly.
With a leap, thrusting his powerful legs forward, the Slardinian jumped onto the Norfel. In a heartbeat he had sunk his salivating jaws into the Norfel’s neck. Blood sprayed out from the wound, and the Norfel dropped his spear with a wild cry of pain.
Stunned, the other Norfel dropped the meat he was carrying and thrust his spear into the Slardinian’s back. With a roar, but more of fury then pain, the Slardinian whirled round and slammed his clawed, talon hand into the Norfel’s face. Skin was ripped off and the Norfel howled. With his other hand, the reptilian, in a flurry of motion, ripped back the spear that had impaled him. Spinning it dextrously around in his hand, he thrust it back into its owner’s chest. The sound of bone splintering filled the air.
Both Norfel crumpled onto the ground, clutching their wounds, desperate to stop the flow of blood seeping forth. Within moments, the fatal wounds claimed their victims, and the two Norfel lay still.
Alteus was horrified. Screaming, he yelled for more guards.
A group of Norfel, spears in hand, rushed to the scene. Alteus stopped them from getting too close to the wretched Slardinian. Instead, Alteus, quite bravely, walked closer to the Slardinian, but making sure he was well out of reach of the length of the chain that captured the reptilian.
”We show you mercy and compassion.” He spat on the floor, “Yet you kill us for our trouble. Slardinian, you will die.”
The reptilian hissed, but said nothing.
Alteus paused for effect. The summoned Norfel looked at him, awaiting the order to attack. Nagoth, desperate to tell Alteus about another threat in their lands, kept silent. This was not the time to interrupt swift justice.
Slowly, Alteus gestured for the Norfel to back away. He had alerted them for effect only, to try and inject some fear, some reaction from the reptilian. “Yet the means of your death,” he stated to the Slardinain, “will not be by our hands, but rather the long, painful days of hunger and starvation. Eventually, you will collapse, and we will leave you chained for the birds to swoop down and feed on your rotting carcass.”
Deliberately, he turned away from the prisoner and looked at Nagoth, ignoring the loud hiss of hatred behind him. He heard some guards dragging away the bodies of the two that had fallen, and sighed somewhat. “Now, Nagoth, what can I do for you?”
Nagoth swallowed, clearing his throat. Quickly, he imparted the knowledge of what he had seen in the clearing about the dark stranger and the tree he had destroyed.
Alteus contemplated the news. Another mage, perhaps, from the city of Malana, but why come to their forest? The mages knew about them, true, but years ago had signed a treaty to leave the Norfel unhindered by humans and to live peacefully in the woods. This mage would be betraying such a treaty, unless he was to come to the village with news. What news, then, to force a solitary mage out into the forest? Maybe he was an outcast, hunted by his own kind. Or maybe he wasn’t part of the mages of Malana at all, which seemed the most probable by what Nagoth had told him.
“This is worrying news”, he said to Nagoth. “First the reptilian arrives, and now a strange sorcerer, who can wither trees at a mere touch? We seldom have any visitors, now we have two unwanted ones.”
“Yes,” nodded Nagoth. “So, what are we to do? Do you want this mage followed?”
Alteus nodded. “Indeed. Take two of my guards with you, Nagoth. This could be dangerous. Find out where he’s headed. If he comes within a mile of Rannos, capture him and bring him here as a prisoner. Remember to bind his hands and mouth, so that he cannot utter any incantation or spell.”
“And if he leaves the forest?”
“Follow for as long as you can. If he leaves the forest, he will become a human problem, not a Norfel problem. So it has been decreed in the treaty.”
Nagoth nodded in understanding, and hurried off to do his leader’s bidding. Alteus glanced back at the Slardinian, who had sat down at the statue, hissing softly to himself. The meat and bodies of the Norfel had been taken away. Eyes narrowing, Alteus wondered what was happening in the outside world for them to become infected with reptilian and wizard vermin.
The ground under Lorkayn’s feet shuddered and gasped as he trod upon it, the sorcerer making his way deeper into the forest of the Norfel. He detected whispered voices, for his hearing was acute and sensitive, and his skills taught him much. Yet he could not discern visibly the faeries of the forest squabbling and flustering over his presence.
A place of magick, then, he thought to himself. The world reeked of it, oozed out of every hole and crevice. The world was stunned by his arrival, and knew not what to do with him. It feared him, this forest. He smiled. All things living feared him.
Come, mysterious power. Come and nestle into my warmth, my enticing flesh.
A voice, soft and echoing, touched his mind. Shocked, the sorcerer stopped. What trick was this? What spirit called to him from the trees? Motionless, he waited. He heard nothing more.
He had not imagined the voice, and it disturbed him. He was used to knowing everything there was to know about a place. An unknown entity, a voice, a power that was not his to command worried him. He needed to discover the source.
Frowning, the sorcerer resumed his walk through the forest. Daylight began to shine from the east, the beginnings of a new day. Pale warmth touched the edge of the forest, and the trees arced towards the light, stretching out their aching limbs in sudden delight. Hoots erupted from the foliage, as animals and birds woke from their slumbers. Lorkayn watched as an eagle of some sort glided from one tree to another above him, watching him with a baleful stare. The hubbub of the faeries diminished as the sunlight shone. He imagined them skittering away to dark, solitary places, to ponder and reflect on what they had seen.
A whistling sound came from the trees. Before Lorkayn had time to react, a small dart attached itself to his chest. Within moments he felt the flow of poison running through his veins. He had been attacked by a watcher from the trees! In annoyance, he pulled the dart free. Indeed, its tip was coated in some green substance. Folly! They did not know who they had attacked. Poison would not kill him, not when he had his arcane arts to hand.
His power, his magick, flowed through his veins. He willed it to coalesce together at the source of the poison’s entry, and destroy it. For a few moments his body’s magick battled the green mark of poison that had entered his system. The poison was a potent one, but his power was born millennia ago, in a heart of passion and fire. It would not be quenched by a tipped dart. He had faced far worse than this, many times. Within a space of a heartbeat, the poison was defeated as his magick flowed and overwhelmed it.
He crushed the dart in his fingers.
Lorkayn lowered himself to the ground, bending over to clutch his chest. He would play his attacker’s little game. Make them think he was succumbing to the poison. Then, when they revealed themselves to him, he would make them pay.
It did not take long to wait. After a few seconds, Nagoth and his two Norfel guards emerged triumphantly from the trees. Nagoth had ordered one of his allies to shoot the dart, the guard using a blowpipe he had carried, carved from a piece of polished wood. The sorcerer was approaching their village, and he would take no chances. The poison would take hold immediately, and spread, rendering the wizard paralysed. It would not kill him for a while, which would give Alteus time to interrogate him, and use the antidote for the poison as a bargaining tool.
Whispering softly, Lorkayn began to chant. The Norfel did not hear him, and were starting to approach him warily, but in full view. Within moments, Lorkayn had finished, and he stood up, tall and proud, his face set in a cruel grin. The Norfel froze in alarm.
Lorkayn raised his left hand upward, pointing at one of the Norfel. With a scream the Norfel found himself being lifted off the ground, mimicking the wizard’s motion. With his other hand, Lorkayn clenched it tight into a fist. The Norfel sped across the air to hover in front of the sorcerer. Terror bulged in his eyes.
Nagoth blinked, just in time to see Lorkayn plunge his fist into his friend’s chest. There was a blast of hot, white magick from the contact, and in horror, Nagoth saw the sorcerer’s fist go
through
his friend’s chest and come out the other side in an explosion of hot blood. The Norfel screamed in agony. The sorcerer withdrew his hand, and Nagoth’s eyes were drawn to the gaping hole in the Norfel’s chest, where entrails and innards were spilling out onto the earth. His friend collapsed to the ground, dead before he hit the grass.
With trembling fingers, the other guard reached for his blowpipe. Lorkayn, unhurriedly, began to walk towards him. Shaking hands made the Norfel drop his weapon, and he scurried to the ground to retrieve it. Lorkayn closed the gap between them. Picking up his weapon, he brought it to his lips, ready to shoot another dart at the sorcerer. Lorkayn reached him just as he was drawing his breath. The wizard’s fist shot upwards and connected with the Norfel’s chin in a vicious uppercut. Once again, his fist carried on through flesh and bone. The Norfel’s head disintegrated into a bloody pulp. As the body fell backwards to the ground, Lorkayn turned to gaze at Nagoth.
Nagoth bolted.
Fear driving his legs into a frenzy, he raced for the safety of the trees. He did not look back, lest the very sight of the foul wizard shrivelled him on the spot. His witness to the severity and horror of the death of his colleagues gave him a body fuelled in adrenalin, and he ran the fastest he had ever done. His life depended on it.
Roots and branches threatened to trip him as he sped through the forest, but his hardened senses and knowledge of the land saved his sprinting feet from coming undone. He had only one thought: to get to his village alive.
Lorkayn watched the fleeing figure before him, and smiled sardonically. It would be a simple matter to follow the green-skinned humanoid, and certainly there was no rush. Let him find others of his kind, and utter frightened words about a dangerous sorcerer. After all, Lorkayn remembered, his arrival had always been cause for fear and fright.
Touch me, dark one, I want to feel your magickal energies on my naked flesh.
Again, the voice, unbidden, came to his ears. What did this mean? What powerful sorcery could come to him, in this strange land, to say such things? Just as Lorkayn was pondering on these questions, the images and dream, if it was a dream, hit his mind as clearly as if he were watching with his own eyes and acting with his own hands.