A Wizard's Tears Read online

  The sights and sounds that greeted her eyes and ears when she opened the door to the outside balcony made her shiver uncontrollably.

  There were fires, all across the city. Smoke. Screams and cries of pain attacked her ears, making her bow her head and pray fervently to Untaba in sudden horror. What had happened to her beloved city of gold? The pain of the people! The screams were like actual blows to her body. She had been sleeping while this carnage unfolded in her city. She was supposed to be a protector. The shame hit her in waves: she had failed her people when they needed her the most. The mages too, had not protected the city from this onslaught - what were they doing? Where were they?

  Vergail huddled her robe about her, suddenly chilled to the core of her being. Surely the sorcerer alone could not have done so much damage to the city by himself? "Suralubus…" she whispered, her thoughts on her friend. She prayed for his well being and strength.

  "Priestess!" A mage ran out to the balcony behind her. "Thank Untaba I have found you!"

  "What is happening?" Vergail almost screeched at him. The mage's haggard eyes glanced at the view from the

  balcony before answering. "The city has been breached. The strange sorcerer, his power is awesome…he has withstood Suralubus and Mandorl. He is in the city! He comes for you. You must come with me! We need to hide"

  "Hide?" Vergail's tone was loud and harsh, but not without fear. "I am high priestess of Untaba's golden temple. I will not hide!"

  "You must," implored the mage. "No-one can withstand the sorcerer's powers. He is not of this plane-"

  "It matters not!" cut in Vergail. "I have already failed my people once. I will not do so again. What of the mages, Suralubus and Mandorl? Do they live?"

  "They both still fight the sorcerer, but the fight is moving towards this guild. Those fires you see, they are the result of the battle. All mages that can be spared are helping the two high mages, but they only seem to slow the sorcerer, not stop him. The carnage is terrible, priestess. The sorcerer cares not who he strikes, be a mage, or a commoner!"

  Vergail shuddered, but it was a momentary physical weakness. She stood tall and proud once more, determined not to show fear in front of this mage's eyes; indeed, in front of her city. "Take me to the battle. Untaba's guidance is needed there immediately."

  "Priestess, it is too dangerous. I have been instructed to take you to the catacombs-"

  "The battle!" the priestess interrupted harshly. "I will not hide and see my city engulf in flames around me. I have the power to help, maybe turn the tides on this sorcerer. Take me to the battle at once."

  The mage knew better than to protest any further.

  An explosion ripped through the courtyard, sending stone and rubble hurling into the air. Pillars shuddered and toppled. Water fountains collapsed and cracked. Market stalls shattered into oblivion. All around were people, running, screaming and fleeing.

  Suralubus wiped the blood away from his eyes, a nasty cut to his forehead bleeding down his face. He looked on at the destruction of the city in anguish. All his power, all of his spell craft and knowledge, all was for naught. He could not save the city, or the people, from this stranger. The sorcerer had blasted the city's entrance gate asunder, while he and Mandorl writhed on the ground in agony, nursing their wounds. They were powerless to stop the sorcerer and the Slardinian from entering the city.

  Now, after a healing spell had alleviated his pain, he had followed the wake of the sorcerer's destruction. It wasn't difficult to follow. He knew his brethren had tried to oppose, to stop the sorcerer from invading the city, but all had been cast aside as if they were made of paper. Fortunately the sorcerer only struck out at those who tried to stop him: the common folk and the market traders seemed beneath his notice. Yet many of the people had died in the crossfire of combat. Homes burned as fireballs sizzled in the air. Huge gusts of wind knocked people off their feet, and spread the fire. People were trampled in the rush as the crowd in the busy courtyard hastened to flee.

  The sorcerer seemed oblivious to the carnage, moving inexorably towards the mage's guild. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, another fact that disturbed Suralubus greatly. He hoped Vergail had taken his advice and hidden in the catacombs beneath the guild. The sorcerer must not be allowed to take her!

  Mandorl appeared by his side, badly hurt but still alive. His face was scarred with burns, and he walked with a limp from a savage attack on his leg. His face was as haggard as Suralubus' own. Both wizards glanced at each other briefly. Without words, they walked in unison down the courtyard, heading for the mage's guild. There were no words to account for their defeat, nor the city's ruin. They could only carry on, and do what they can. Suralubus prayed, not for the last time, that his message to the Ice Lords had been received.

  Keldoran woke up screaming.

  The land magicks within him were ablaze, and Keldoran dug his nails into the bed, his face contorting in excruciating pain. The agony came in waves, building up to a crescendo, then dying away for but a moment, then building up again. It was worse than before; Keldoran had not felt such torment in his body before. His whole body felt like it had been dipped into a vat of lava. The land must be suffering, and close by, was his mind's last thought before all he could think of was the pain.

  His cries alerted his friends, who were sleeping in nearby rooms. Corg was the first at his side, the juggler's face a picture of concern. Keldoran was dimly aware of Corg yelling to Relb to find a mage, and also noted a blonde flash of hair that announced the arrival of Yvanna. Then pain, so much pain! With a final scream of agony, Keldoran collapsed back on the bed, unconscious. Yvanna hovered over him, looking at Corg in distress. "What's happening to him?"

  "The pain was too much for his body. He's fallen unconscious. That is good. Better to sleep the pain than to live the pain." The juggler turned to Yvanna. "It's the land magick in his veins. There must be a major upheaval close to here-"

  Relb ran into the room, interrupting Corg's explanations. "The city! Look at the city!" he blurted. They all ran out of Keldoran's room, following Relb to a side window he had found on his travels to find a mage, of which there appeared to be none in the nearby vicinity. They seemed alone in the guild, and, as they all looked through the window, they immediately knew the reason why they had been left. The city was burning, and as they watched, explosions rippled through buildings, sending plumes of hot smoke out into the sky. It had been deathly quiet in the guild, the sounds from outside had not penetrated the thick stone walls to alert them. All wondered how long this had been happening without their knowledge.

  "Keldoran is reacting to this," Corg indicated the carnage outside with his hand. "It must be the sorcerer the mages have spoken of that is causing all this damage." Relb appeared panic-stricken. "The power! One man against all the mages of this guild…"

  "Don't think about it," cut in Corg smoothly. "We are relatively safe, here. It is for Keldoran I feel for. He needs a mage's attention, and quickly!"

  "What can we do?" said Relb. "I feel utterly useless!"

  "We try and find a mage," said Corg. "That is all we can do right now. Yvanna, it may be safer for you to stay with Keldoran, while Relb and I search."

  Yvanna did not argue. The sight outside the window terrified her. All her simple plans of doing magick and impressing a powerful mage with her charms evaporated into dust. She nodded at Corg dumbly.

  "Where is Nagoth?" asked Relb suddenly, conscious that the Norfel should also be with them.

  "He's probably trying to save his own skin!" spat out Corg harshly. "Relb, let's focus on finding a mage, and quickly. Keldoran's life may depend on it. You search the upper levels of the guild; they should be safer for a time. I will concentrate on the lower levels. Find a mage, and bring him to Keldoran."

  Corg turned to Yvanna. "Will you be all right?"

  Yvanna nodded in worry. "Yes, just…be quick, will you?"

  The juggler nodded, and he and Relb rushed off in opposite direc
tions.

  Yvanna moved back to Keldoran's room, and sat gently on the side of his bed, looking at his unconscious form. Sweat was pouring from him. Yvanna was scared; she did not know how to react to this! She felt alone. There were no mages around to help her. Keldoran was sick, really sick, and she prayed that he wouldn't die while she sat next to him, powerless to help him. The situation reminded her once more of her father, and how she had almost come to watch him die. Yvanna clasped her hands together. Tears came unbidden down her cheeks. She did not want to be here. "It wasn't supposed to be like this…" she whimpered to herself. "It wasn't supposed to be like this…"

  Lorkayn had reached the road leading to the guild of mages. He glanced momentarily at the hand like structure ahead, his eyebrows raised in amusement. It was such a beautiful building, for people who had no power.

  Here, the land heaved terribly. With each footstep, with each moment of contact, the sorcerer's presence exploded the roads and buildings around him in earthquakes. People screamed and ran away from him. Lorkayn could feel the source of the land's power here, and he was approaching it. He revelled in the chaos he was creating. It was what he knew, what he had always done.

  His pet, the Slardinian, was enjoying the havoc as much as he was. Still charmed by the sorcerer, the creature did his bidding. Often, he sent the lizard man into packs of people, for fun, letting the Slardinian feast on warm blood. The horror had made the streets before them empty, as people stayed in their homes, not daring to come out and face the new arrivals to the city.

  The images came to his mind, again, of Vergail, the priestess. So many images, flooding his brain. He was being led to this place, of that Lorkayn was sure. The gods were surely playing some game here, but they would fail. Redemption from his sins was something they would not get. Black eyes narrowing in thought, the sorcerer dwelled on the motives. Why had he been brought here to seek out the priestess? Why was he compelled to do so? He would play this game, for now.

  A flash of energy lit up the empty road before him, and suddenly two people stood where they had not moments before. A mage, and a woman.

  It was her!

  He knew it instantly. This was the priestess, come to greet him. He watched silently as she walked towards him. Serenely, walking proud, her footsteps strong and sure, Vergail, high priestess of Malana, was an imposing and intoxicating sight to his eyes. She was a tall woman, with long, straight black hair down to her waist. Her green eyes held an intelligent glint, almost mischievous. Her pale complexion shone out from the red robes she wore, her white neck looking soft and kissable. Her lips were covered in black lipstick, giving her an odd yet striking gothic appearance. As she walked, her robes opened slightly, revealing captivating images of her firm, muscular body, in particular her flowing legs. She did not seem scared or humbled to approach him, seeming to be in full control of her emotions. He expected nothing less.

  Behind her, the mage was chanting. He pointed at the priestess as she came closer, and a protective ring of energy encompassed her, defending her from any sudden attack the sorcerer might inflict.

  The Slardinian hissed at the sight of her, baring his fangs. He pounced towards her, but could not pierce the protective shell around her. She completely ignored the seething Slardinian, her eyes on the dark sorcerer. He was exactly like she had pictured him, in her dream. He was muscular, well defined. Inside, her heart quivered, but she was determined not to show any weakness in front of this man.

  She spoke boldly and clearly. "You have come here and brought chaos to the city and the land. I know not why you have come, nor why you seek me out, yet it does not matter. In Untaba's name, I will force you back from this place like removing a disease from one's body."

  She waited for a reaction, anything to show he had understood this threat. He merely stood, not responding, watching her intently. His eyes were so black, so dark. She could not detect any emotion from them. Her fear caught her then, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

  Then he smiled. It was a gentle, almost caring smile, and she stared at it, for it was the most frightening thing she had ever seen. A smile like that would look friendly on a child's face, or a caring lover. A smile like that could fill her mind with such feelings of longing, of rushing to embrace the owner. A smile like that could make her giggle, and smile back in glee. This smile did none of those things, just filled her with a sense of dread and foreboding that made her body shiver.

  Shrugging slightly, the sorcerer dropped his robe from his body. He was naked underneath, and her eyes grew wide at the sight of his muscular form. Behind her, the mage shouted in shock. Lorkayn smiled all the while, and, ever so slowly, he started walking towards her.

  Chanting wildly, the mage ran to her aid, raising his hand to send electric bolts through the air, to strike the stranger down. His spell never found its target. With a leap of anger, the Slardinian, forgotten, snarled and attacked the mage, talons and teeth aiming for his throat. The mage, hurriedly, sent his energy bolt into the lizard man, blocking the Slardinian's attack, who fell backwards in sudden pain as the electricity shot across his body.

  Lorkayn raised his arm into the air, and shouted loudly. It was like a scream, and the sound penetrated Vergail's eardrums and lodged itself there, never to be forgotten. Above, without warning, a black cloud formed, conjured incredibly by the sorcerer. Thunder rumbled and heaved. The mage looked up in horror, just in time to see a bolt of lightning erupt from the cloud and strike him in the head. The contact obliterated him into a burning mass of charred flesh. With another cry, Lorkayn lowered his hand, and the cloud dissipated as quickly as it arrived.

  Vergail's protective barrier disintegrated with the death of the mage. She shook now, her mind and body trembling with fear. How could she face this sorcerer? Placing her hands together, she prayed. She willed for Untaba's help, in this dark hour. She willed for Untaba to intervene, to put a stop to this destructive entity to Elrohen. With all her being, she poured her energies into the prayer, all her loathing and disgust for the man in front of her binding her words together. She looked up at him then, power surging through her as Untaba heard his servant, and granted her power. Power to survive.

  As the sorcerer watched, a light blue nimbus enveloped Vergail, a new protection from the god she served. Her confidence increased, and her fear ebbed as the power of Untaba flowed through her. Now, she would strike, and stop this sorcerer from taking any more lives. She raised both her arms aloft, and pointed at Lorkayn. The blue nimbus extended from her fingertips, reaching across the small distance from her to the sorcerer. At its touch, Lorkayn's mind was assailed by images and memories that were not his own.

  A group of people stood over a gravestone, crying. A man, hugged a younger woman, who wept in his arms. A young boy, snivelling, head bowed, staring numbly at the name on the gravestone: his mothers. She had been taken from them all, murdered by a thief who had come into their home to steal from them. She had been cut down in the prime of her life, leaving a young family behind.

  Softly, carefully, the young boy produced a small, white flower from his pocket, and placed it upon the earth before the gravestone. A gift for his dead mother: a token of his affection that poured out of him. Once done, the boy turned and buried his head in the man's chest. The man clasped his hands around him, bringing him close. This man had been her husband, and he had been blessed with a daughter and a son, who he consoled now. Together, he vowed they would get through this. In a display of unity, he brought his children to his side, and they all hugged together.

  He told them to remember the happy times, the memories of their mother that would stay with them forever. He told them that sometimes the gods took people they cared for away, to another plane. It was not their place to reason why. He told them that their mother had travelled on, and was in another realm, somewhere safe.

  He vowed to himself to be a better father, to always be there for his children. He said to them that nothing would tear them apart. He sai
d to them that they must be strong, and to learn through all things that life would throw at them.

  The bitter cold of the snow flurried down upon him. A man, lost to the land, homeless, nowhere to go. The cold seeped through his bones, freezing his body, making him shake uncontrollably. Without warning, his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the hard earth. His breath hung on the air. He felt his body going numb. He knew, then, with misery, that he would die here.

  He did not know how long he had lain there, in the falling snow, drifting into unconsciousness. Yet he woke, and he was inside, a warm blanket wrapped around him. A beautiful log fire crackled not five feet away, the heat soothing his body and easing his aches. He could only wonder at how he had come to be here, and wonder at his own precious life. The relief was a wave through his body. He was alive! The thought elated him above all else.

  A man came into the room, and offered him some hot water to sip on. He introduced himself, told him how he had found his body in the snow, and had got help to bring him back to his home. He told him that he was a healer in the local village, and that he could not just watch and see a man die in the snow, and that he could stay in his home for as long as he liked.

  The compassion in the man astounded him, and his gratitude was immense. This man had saved his life and wanted nothing in return. He vowed he would pay this man back, maybe help with his work, and become a part of the village's community. At last, he had been given a chance to belong somewhere, all begun by a benevolent man's soul.

  A mother scolded her young son. She had caught him stealing bread from the baker's stall down the road. Never had she been this angry towards him, and tears came to his eyes as her words stung into him. She had taken away the bread and given it back to the stall, and punished her son by not giving him any food that day. Now he was starving, and unhappy. It would be a valuable lesson for him, she thought. It made him feel guilty for his actions, and also made him regret doing such a rash, criminal act. He certainly would not do it again, of that she was certain, and was finally learning how to behave properly.