A Wizard's Tears (9 page)

Mandorl stood and touched Keldoran’s shoulder. He stood and allowed himself to be escorted away, his mind still coming to terms with the information he had been given.
Suralubus looked at Nagoth, and smiled broadly. “Let us go to the stone circle and begin the ritual. I will alert some of my brethren to accompany us. We will find out the fate of your village.”
Nagoth bowed, thanking the high mage. Soon, he would know what had become of Rannos. He prayed it was good news. For a moment longer, however, both he and the high mage watched as Keldoran was led away, staring at the young man with a burning curiosity.
What did the future hold for the young man?

Mandorl escorted Keldoran back along the passageway, and then into a labyrinth of tunnels and steps. “Sir,” said Keldoran, “Where are we headed?”

“I am taking you back to your other travelling companions. Suralubus will summon you again, after he has dealt with the Norfel and this sorcerer.”

“I have so much more to ask,” muttered Keldoran, more to himself, but Mandorl overheard.
“Patience, young man,” said Mandorl, glancing down at him. “Suralubus senses no harm in you. Your fever has gone, and for a reason I am sure he knows. He would not have taken you from his sight had he detected any danger.”
Keldoran nodded. “Do you know anything of land magicks?”
“Only myths, and tales of the Ice Lords. They were the race with abilities to sense the land’s spirit. Suralubus knows the most.”
Sighing, Keldoran walked on in silence. As Mandorl led him into a room where the others had been taken, he suddenly realised he had forgotten to ask about his dream.
“Sir,” he asked Mandorl, “Do you know of someone or something called Vo’Loth?”
The mage stopped mid-stride to turn and look at him quizzically. “Now, how would you know the name of the Ice Lord’s leader?”

Gralto staggered out of the main door leading to
The Dragon’s Rest,
the tavern and main hub of life in the small village of Roth. His eyes bleary, he could sense the ground coming up to greet him but could not avert the inevitable. With a loud thud, he collapsed, his breath letting out a pained gurgle.

Ah, the sweetness of Emorthos’ liquor! May Untaba be praised for the invention of it, he thought to himself. The ground seemed soft, warm. Glancing down, Gralto noticed the trickle of blood that dripped slowly from his head. With a groan, he hauled himself to his feet.

His mind and eyes a blur, Gralto weaved to and fro on the main road of Roth, not sure exactly where he was headed, following the wisdom of his feet. They would take him to where he wanted to go. His head dripped blood. Gralto had a moment’s inspiration to stop and tend to his wound, but then his brain succumbed to the spicy beer he had guzzled down earlier.

Again he tripped and tumbled to the ground. As he struggled to rise, his eyes caught the sight of a taloned, reptilian foot. Grunting, he lifted his head up, a giddy smile on his face. He was greeted with a loud hiss, and a forked tongue slithering between fanged teeth. Gralto opened his mouth to speak, but knew no more. A claw came out of nowhere and smashed into his skull.

Lorkayn watched silently as his Slardinian pet hunched down over the drunkard, ripping his face and body until he lay dead, twitching on the ground. With a cry of bestial fury, the Slardinian bit into the man, feasting on the blood and flesh.

A deep cracking sound underfoot alerted him from the reptilian’s meal. The ground beneath him shook violently. Lorkayn frowned, and took a step backwards, seeming as annoyed as if a fly had buzzed in front of his face.

The ground before him erupted, bits of stone and soil flying into the air as something large pushed its way upwards. A piece of curved rock rose out of the hole to stand twice the size of him; a long, polished monolith: a standing stone. Its white marbled surface shone with slivers of gold; it glittered in the moonlight, a thing of ancient beauty. In its centre was a circular hole, covered with a thin white membrane of transparent rock.

Lorkayn’s eyes narrowed. What sorcery was this? He approached the standing stone warily, gazing over it meticulously with his eyes, suspecting a trap. There appeared to be none. As the sorcerer leaned forward to inspect the stone further, an image coalesced into form beneath the white membrane in the stone’s centre; he knew immediately he was being watched.

“I have found him!” uttered Suralubus, his voice strident and powerful in the still of the night.
He stood in the middle of the stone circle, deep in the gardens of Malana, his arms aloft, holding a crystal that reflected the light of the three moons onto the large monolith before him. At the base of the other eight stones, arms aloft and chanting softly, stood his brethren, one to each stone.
Nagoth stood behind Suralubus with the priestess, Vergail. He had never seen such a display of magick and he looked to the wizards in awe.
Suralubus had started the spell once his brethren were in place, chanting loudly. As he had reached a crescendo, he had taken the crystal from his robe and held it high into the air, pointing it at the central stone. It was diamond shaped, and was the size of a fist.
Light had hit the crystal from the moons, and had bounced onto the central stone, bathing the tall monolith in a pale luminescence. The other mages had then started their chanting, adding to the spell, raising their arms in a harmony of sound. The central stone seemed to shudder, and eight beams of moonlight had burst forth from the stone to envelop the rest of the circle. All the mages were now bathed in a pale glow, looking like spectres from another world.
Vergail had then recited a hymn to Untaba, asking for his divine guidance in the proceedings. A column of green light had issued from the central stone, forming a circular image that even now filled the sky, like a shimmering portal into the unknown.
The image had mutated, and Nagoth watched as they had sped underground, flowing through rock and soil. Vergail had explained to him that they were following the land’s pain, back to where the tremors were most potent. Suralubus had spoken, and away in the village of Roth the sorcerer had been revealed to them as the mages’ spell took effect, called forth from the ground into the form of another standing stone.
The sorcerer’s face shone done on them, his image flickering like green fire over the gardens of Malana.
“That’s him,” said Nagoth. “The one who killed my brothers. The one who burns the land at his touch.”
“He is in Roth,” announced Suralubus, his arms trembling with energies. “He has a Slardinian with him.”
“The one we captured!” hissed Nagoth in anger. “He must have rescued him!” Agitated, the Norfel turned to Suralubus. “What of my village?”
Suralubus chanted, and his brethren echoed his words. The image in the sky changed, as again the spell followed the land, broken and ruined, back through the journey the sorcerer had taken. Nagoth watched as the trees of his home came into view. After agonizing moments his village appeared. It was unharmed. They could see Norfel walking about, the fires and lights of the village burning as they had always done.
“Safe!” gasped Nagoth in relief.
In cruel irony to the Norfel’s statement, at that instant, one of the mages collapsed to the ground with a startled cry of pain. Immediately his stone fell into darkness, the spell broken.
The image flickered, and returned to the sorcerer’s features. His eyes were narrowed. His mouth was speaking.
“What is he saying?” asked Nagoth, a sudden fear clasping his heart.
Another cry of pain, and another mage toppled to the ground, his stone extinguished. The image above flickered again, and started to fade.
Suralubus was sweating profusely. His arms ached, and were shaking violently as he struggled to keep the spell active. “He utters a spell,” he muttered. “He’s forcing us to relent. He is…strong!”
A further mage crumpled as the sorcerer’s spell retaliated.
“How is he doing this?” exclaimed Nagoth. “He is but one – your spells must be stronger!”
Vergail began to join in the fray, praying to Untaba. The image flared in the sky anew. Sensing this new threat, the sorcerer’s eyes rested on the priestess, widening in sudden recognition. With a wild shriek, Vergail tore herself away from his gaze. Her words to Untaba faltered, and died.
Suralubus broke the contact, lowering the crystal. The image in the sky faded into nothingness. His whole body shuddered and he fell to the earth, as did his remaining brethren, spent and exhausted. The darkness of night devoured the stone circle.
Nagoth rushed to the side of Suralubus, helping the high mage to sit. “What just happened?” The Norfel demanded.
“He…sent the energies of our seeing spell back onto us,” said the high mage, his breath wheezing in strain. “He used his power of corruption over the land against us. We could not maintain the spell with such an onslaught of energy.”
“I don’t understand,” confessed Nagoth.
“No matter,” answered Suralubus. “At least, it appears, your village is safe.”
The Norfel nodded. “I thank you for looking. Yet what of Malana? He is surely coming here. Roth is on the way, is it not?”
The mage nodded. “Yes, he is travelling to Malana, it would seem.”
“Why? Who is he? What is his purpose here?” Suralubus’ eyes rested on Vergail, who had slumped to the ground, her knees in the dirt, her head bowed in prayer. She was shaking from head to toe, rocking from side to side.
The high mage’s voice was a whisper on the night air. “He recognized the priestess. I think he comes for her.”

She sat in Suralubus’ chamber, sitting cross-legged before the warmth of the fire, just as Keldoran had done earlier. The high mage sat opposite, his eyes thoughtful, staying silent while the priestess revealed to him her side of the tale.

The burning logs of the fire crackled, the only sound in the room. Vergail’s face was pale, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. She had not spoken at all on the journey back to the guild following the magick in the gardens. Suralubus had insisted on speaking with her, alone, before he summoned his brethren to a special meeting designed to tackle the problem of the approaching sorcerer.

It could not wait. The sorcerer was but a day’s walk from Malana, and defences would have to be put in place. The mages had to protect the citizens of the city; he hoped it would not come to an outright battle. He just wanted to find out more about the sorcerer: why he was here, where he had come from, and why his very presence was threatening the land around them. Perhaps the priestess could shed some clue about the strange wizard coming for her.

“I remembered his face,” Vergail continued. “Those strange, dark eyes of his. There is no mistake. I recognised him just as he recognised me.”

“Yet you have never met him before, so how is it that you both share memories of one another?” Suralubus shifted his position on the rug, feeling fidgety.

“I know not,” answered the priestess. “I have only dreamt of him once, and it was earlier today, before I came to see you at the stones.”

“Then, mayhap, he dreamt of you at the same time. Dreams hold their own, unfathomable magicks. This is not mere coincidence. You are destined,
or have been chosen
, to meet this black eyed sorcerer. Of what did you dream of?”

The question made Vergail anxious, and she stared at the floor, unwilling to gaze into Suralubus’ eyes. She did not want to tell him the full content of her dream. There was something – inexcusable – about a priestess thinking erotic thoughts, especially when it concerned a dark stranger. The fact that it had happened at all unnerved her; it made her less complete and less faithful to Untaba. A priestess was pure, not bowing to a hedonistic and lustful nature. She would hear no more talk of the dream.

“That is all I can tell you,” she answered Suralubus smoothly. “My dream content is of no relevance. I’m afraid I cannot give you any insight. The sorcerer is a stranger, and I know not why I had a vision of him.”

Suralubus could sense the priestess’ discomfort, but made no more of the issue. “Then, I bid you to stay here, Vergail, for your safety, until this matter is settled. The mages will watch over you personally.”

She nodded her thanks, grateful. She could not shake off her sudden nerves. “What of the sorcerer? What are your plans?”

“I will confront him, with my brethren supporting me. We need to try and communicate with him, discern what his motives are. I sense great power in him, and he is a worry not just for Malana’s safety, I fear, but Emorthos itself. Such a chaotic power should not be allowed to go through the land unchecked. He has already caused great rumbles in the land. I fear for the future.”

“What of the Slardinian that accompanies him?” “The lizard men have been banished from our shores. He shall be captured, and interrogated as to why he has broken this ancient pact. Now, priestess, if you will excuse me, I need to consult with my brethren and set our defences in place. You are welcome to stay and use my room as you see fit.”
Vergail rose, accepting the high mage’s offer. “You are kind, Suralubus, thank you,” she said. “What of the dream? Will you look at the ancient texts to see if anything like this has been recorded before? Maybe it wasn’t of this sorcerer’s doing.”
“I’m sure it isn’t his doing, Vergail,” replied Suralubus. “He was as surprised to see you as you were to see him. The visions are inexplicable. I will give this much thought, and of course I will be looking at our history texts most closely. In the meantime, should you receive any more dreams or visions related to this sorcerer, inform me at once.”
The priestess smiled. She suddenly appeared strong again, to his eyes. Strong, and stunningly beautiful. “Of course,” she agreed. The content, however, should it prove erotic again, she would keep to herself. “I bid you good luck in your defences and may Untaba’s eyes show you the truth in your search.”
The wizard gave her a curt nod and departed.
Vergail sat and warmed herself by the fire. Her mind, again, wandered to the dream. Despite her mind condemning the vision as immoral and sinful, she startled herself at how her body reacted to the memory. It had need, and she trembled excitedly. The vision certainly had not been horrific, or alarming.
She had enjoyed it, and that fact alone worried her more than anything.