A Wizard's Tears Read online

  Lorkayn was pleased with his pet. He would let the Slardinian handle them. The lizard man was expendable, after all. Let him face and do battle with these powerful beings of cold. His needs were more important, and he would not risk himself unnecessarily in combat. He had the priestess - it was time to bend her to his will, to use the power of her god to unite with his own magick to leave this place and to return whence he came. He would have his revenge on Mincalen, and the gods that banished him from there. This world meant nothing to him.

  For a few moments the dark sorcerer gloated. The gods of his home had failed in their quest to redeem him, by showing him this land and all its wonders and images. He had no doubt they had forced him here to meet the priestess, to learn from her god and to assuage his murderous ways. Their intricate scheme had not worked. He would use the power of the priestess for his own designs and machinations.

  Suralubus and Mandorl Kesar arrived shortly thereafter at the guild entrance. They found the door closed, and locked by a magick spell not of their making.

  People had flocked to tell them of the priestess and how she had been violated on the street for all to see. Anger surged through Suralubus that Vergail could be treated so. He was also amazed that Untaba, the priestess's god and protecter, had not intervened in this heinous crime!

  He had tried to calm down the people's unrest and fear, with little success. They looked to him for a solution, asking difficult questions of why the mages had allowed such an evil stranger into their midst. The fact that the sorcerer seemed unbeatable was brushed aside in disbelief. The people, the way of life in Malana, could not and would not accept this fact.

  So it had ended with the remaining mages, led by Suralubus and Mandorl Kesar, to approach their own guild in fear and uncertainty. Now, they discovered, they could not even access their own building. The sorcerer had created some form of energy shield at all entrances, a force field keeping them out. The sorcerer had taken up residence, with the city's beloved priestess, and there seemed to be nothing they could do about it.

  Yet, there was hope. A witness had told Suralubus of how he had seen the stranger knocked to the ground in a wave of blue energy. Suralubus grabbed this news eagerly into his mind. If the stranger could be knocked back, there was a power in Malana to rival him. He discounted that this power had come from one of his brethren. This was something else. It was too soon for the Ice Lords to have responded to his summons, or so he thought, but perhaps they had arrived? If so, then there was, indeed, a good chance the sorcerer would be brought to swift justice. If the power had not come from an Ice Lord, then what new magick existed in the city? He then remembered the group of apprentices that had arrived last night. Keldoran! Could the power have come from him?

  Suralubus vowed to enter the guild somehow. His unlock spells were having no effect on the entrance. Perhaps, if he were to walk around the guild, the sorcerer would have missed some of his secret entrances, for there were many. He also prayed to Untaba that the priestess still lived, and Keldoran and his companions had found somewhere safe to hide. Time was running out, of this he knew.

  While the mage deliberated, the rain kept coming down, in torrents. Untaba, and all of Malana it seemed, wept tears for their lost priestess.

  PART II: PROPHECY

  12. Temple Of Evil

  Keldoran's body was cold. Lifeless, pale and weak, any that looked at him could only say he was dead. Although Keldoran was critically ill, he had still not reached death's door. His mind, in particular, was very active, and he dreamed.

  He was walking on a plateau of ice and snow. His grey robe did nothing to impede the cold, which cut into him like a hot brand on skin. It was biting, and his body shook violently from it. The sky above was a brilliant blue, with no clouds to mar its beauty. Ahead of him was a mountain, vast and wonderful. On a day such as this, he could see the top of the peak, the contours of the rock. He felt insignificant. He was dwarfed by such a size before him.

  The mountain was his destination, and he had travelled long and far to get here. He had been shown the way, for he had never wandered in these snowy landscapes before. Yet he could not remember who had shown him, or how he had memorised the route to the mountain. He did, however, remember why he had come here: he needed guidance.

  He was beginning to realise his power, his full potential. The land magick had a life of its own, bubbling and seething inside him. He could feel the immensity of the power, as immense as the great mountain ahead of him. It was because of this power that he sought aid. The Ice Lords would be able to control it.

  Vo'Loth. It was a name, and it had been in his mind for a while. As his mind thought this name, he could see images of a culture long forgotten, a lost civilisation. Secrets were revealed to him. Perhaps it was part of the power of the land magick, calling to its history through him.

  The plateau ended at the foot of the mountain. Here, he could not see the top, and the rock stretched far and long above him. Wind whipped across the face of the mountain, hurling snow into the air. There was a presence, here. Keldoran's heart jumped into his mouth. He could feel, something, a force in the air. It had the electrical charge of lightning. Yet he was not frightened. This is what he had come for. Excited, the magick inside him became frenzied, as if it knew what was to come.

  A shimmering appeared beside the mountain. When Keldoran looked at it, he could see a myriad of colours, sparkling with the snow visible behind it. It was a beautiful thing to see. Slowly, gently, the colours swirled and started to coalesce. A pale turquoise colour emerged, and slowly elongated, becoming the shape of a humanoid figure. Keldoran smiled; his magick was aflame in greeting to the Ice Lord that took form in front of his eyes.

  The Ice Lord was thin and tall, around seven feet. He wore a pale white robe that fell all the way to his feet. His skin was a cyan blue, like the sky. His eyes were large, saucer shaped, and black, and appeared to have no pupils. The Ice Lord was bald, not a single hair touching any part of his head or face. The rest of him was concealed under his robe, ending with soft white boots that covered his feet. His lips were the same colour as his eyes, and this alone gave him a sinister image.

  Keldoran's heart surged. To be in the presence of one of the earliest, ancient races of Elrohen demanded reverence and respect. Involuntarily he bowed his head low in greeting to the figure before him.

  The Ice Lord spoke, and his words were like musical whispers. His mouth did not seem to move, but Keldoran could hear the soft, harmonic voice in his mind, seeming to come out of the very snow and ice surrounding them.

  Keldoran was told of his power, and how to control it. He needed a conduit, an object that could take a portion of his power and hold it, intact, without damaging him in the process. The Ice Lord knew of such an object, a crystal staff, held deep in the mages' catacombs. It had been made long ago, by himself, for he was Vo'Loth, one of the oldest Ice Lords. He told Keldoran that he could use this object to control and calm the land magick that threatened to destroy his body and mind. It was how they had endured the power within themselves, for Ice Lords also had a deep land magick burning inside each of them.

  Keldoran was suddenly awake, the image of the Ice Lord and the mountain spinning away into oblivion. The message, however, lingered. He knew what he must do. He also knew, that somehow, his magick had taken him mentally to that place, to that meeting, and to the knowledge he now had.

  "He's awake!" yelled Relb excitedly. Corg, who had still been carrying him, lowered Keldoran gingerly to the ground. Keldoran managed a weak smile at the juggler.

  "I did not expect you to wake up," admitted Corg, in a low, subdued voice, but clearly was relieved to see him awake.

  The group huddled around Keldoran, who was so weak from his magick that all he could do was blink at them. He tried to speak, to tell them all about the Ice Lord and the crystal staff that would save him, but a fit of coughing stopped him. Another wave of intense pain hit him as the land magick, like a virus, spread throughout
his entire body. He must not lose consciousness again, he thought angrily! He must tell Corg about the staff. His life depended upon it.

  A hissing noise behind them stopped all further conversation. Turning his gaze from Keldoran, Corg motioned for the others to be quiet. He looked back at the steps they had walked down earlier, fearing the worst.

  It didn’t take long for the Slardinian to come into view. Hissing in a bestial rage, the lizard man’s eyes narrowed in cunning as he saw the party waiting for him in the small chamber. His eyes weighed up each of his opposition, and a baleful grin appeared on his features. One was dying, on the ground, hurting already. Another was a girl, looking as panicky and timid as another of their group. The only two which required some respect was the Bu’Kep, and the Norfel. Two of his most hated enemies, the Slardinian’s mouth dripped saliva in anticipation for the kills that would surely be his.

  Corg thought quickly. They were unarmed. Keldoran was injured and running away was certainly not an option for him. They must confront the lizard man. That was the only choice they had. Reasoning with such a creature would prove useless.

  “Stay back,” warned Corg to the others. “I will face him.” Nagoth spat at this. “You are unarmed, and no match to face the Slardinian alone. I will help you.”

  “I do not need your help, Norfel!” roared the Bu’Kep angrily. “The help of the Norfel kills, as I recall.”

  “Now is not the time for a historical debate,” answered Nagoth smoothly. “The thing is almost on us. You will need my talons, and my speed!”

  Corg growled, but knew he was being stupid. He would surely die if he faced the Slardinian alone. Together, they might have a chance.

  Corg instructed the others. “Relb, Yvanna, guard Keldoran. Run if the battle is clearly…not going our way.”

  “Run where?” asked Yvanna worriedly.

  Corg did not answer, but started his approach toward the slavering lizard man in front of them. Nagoth moved with the juggler, Corg moving to the left and the Norfel moving to the right.

  The Slardinian grinned cruelly. This would provide him cold and bloody satisfaction. He waited until the two opponents were within arms reach, then vaulted on his powerful legs, heading straight for the Norfel.

  Nagoth cried out, raising a talon to ward off the impending attack, but the impact of the Slardinian crashing into him sent them both scuttling to the floor, a tangle of green limbs and fangs. Nagoth slashed across the lizard man’s face, his talons biting deep into the scaly skin. Green blood oozed from the wound, but it only made the Slardinian roar in anger and determination to get the job done. His claws were on the Norfel’s throat, choking him and shaking him into submission. Nagoth had a moment to grudgingly admire the sheer strength of the Slardinian, before darkness came for him.

  The darkness retreated momentarily as Corg attacked the lizard man from behind. With a loud cry, he yanked the Slardinian backwards, off the injured Norfel.

  The speed of the lizard man was astonishing. In a fluid motion he grabbed Corg’s head and flung the startled Bu’Kep forwards, over him to land on the stone floor in a ragged heap. Corg blinked away stars just in time to see the lizard man pounce on him, claws and talons scratching and corrupting his face.

  Corg fought bravely, but to no avail. The strength and speed of the Slardinian was proving too much for him. For each blow he tried to land on the lizard man, for each moment he almost pushed the creature away, the Slardinian came back renewed and angrier. Each time the lizard man lashed out, he struck another dangerous blow. Corg was covered in his own blood as new scratches emerged and the barrage of attacks formed wounds.

  Corg’s mind detached from the fight. So, he would die here. He did not feel sad at the thought of his own death, just sad that he could not save Keldoran and the others from their own doom. He prayed to Untaba to be merciful. Then he knew no more, unconsciousness taking over him.

  Nagoth screamed in fury at the lizard man. In his last vestige of strength and power, the Norfel hurled himself at the attacking Slardinian, knocking him back from the limp form of the juggler. The lizard man roared. He had not yet killed the Bu’Kep, and did not enjoy missing out on a certain death. Nagoth fought wildly, scarring the lizard man’s face repeatedly, but not one attack could bring the creature down.

  The Slardinian hugged Nagoth to him fiercely, gripping the writhing Norfel ever tighter. Squeezing relentlessly, Nagoth could not break free, and he could feel his ribs being crushed by the sheer power of the lizard man. In a scream that rent the air in its harshness, Nagoth’s ribs cracked loudly and he collapsed in the Slardinian’s arms, his innards crushed by the aggression and the hatred of the savage lizard man. Lifeless, the Slardinian tossed the Norfel to one side like he was a puppet with strings cut. Keldoran watched as the creature turned to look at those who remained. He had defeated Corg and Nagoth in minutes. They had no hope of defeating the lizard man. Was this their time to die?

  Anger bubbled within Keldoran as he gazed at the dead form of the Norfel, who had died protecting him. Rage and power surged inside him as he gazed at Corg, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Fury seethed as he glanced over at the shocked and shivering Yvanna, and the trembling Relb.

  “You will not kill us, “ he whispered to himself, staring coldly at the grinning Slardinian, who even now approached the still juggler to finish his work.

  Keldoran looked at his hands, and he could see the energy sparking off of his fingers, coalescing into a harsh blue cold fire. Agonisingly, he forced himself to control it, to centre the power towards the Slardinian, to strike him down as he had struck down the sorcerer. The pain was intense, and Keldoran could feel himself losing consciousness from it. No! He must control. He would not fall down and die here. He must save his friends. The Slardinian looked up, sensing the power in the boy in front of him. His grin grew into a snarl as he saw the tendrils of blue energy rising from Keldoran’s fingers. The lizard man remembered the power that had struck his master down. He must act quickly. With a roar, the lizard man ran towards Keldoran, intent on leaping and tearing the boy’s throat before he could unleash such power again.

  Relb shouted. “Keldoran, look out!” He saw the Slardinian running. He knew what the lizard man was going to do. Stumbling to his feet, Relb ran towards Keldoran, and grabbed him, tugging him to get up and run.

  The lizard man leapt into the air, but did not reach his intended target.

  Keldoran clasped his hands together, and a funnel of blue flame erupted from his fingers. His eyes were blind to what was happening around him, tuned in to his power. He merely aimed at the leaping form in front of him, expecting the Slardinian to be sent backwards.

  Only Relb was the form in front of him, struggling to get him to stand up.

  Relb was hit by the blue energy just as the Slardinian’s leap landed the lizard man on his back. With a cry Relb collapsed to the ground, the blue magick seeping through him. Using him as a conduit, the blue energy ran over Relb’s body and rushed onto the attached Slardinian as well, who screamed as the cold fire penetrated his scales. Ripping himself free of Relb, the lizard man recoiled in pain, and fled, heading up the stone steps back to his master for protection.

  Yvanna screamed, and the sound was enough to penetrate Keldoran’s mind. With a loud sigh, he broke free of his power, dissipating the cold blue energy.

  Relb lay at his feet, charred, lifeless, and unmoving.

  Vergail lay on a stone table within the heart of the guilds of magick. She was unconscious, but very much alive, her chest rising and lowering in sleep filled contentment. Her tattered red robe hung about her, ripped so that her shoulders, arms and legs were exposed to the cold, dank air.

  Around her, a multitude of energies rippled through the room. Guided by Lorkayn, who stood but several feet away, the energies interwove and danced in a macabre ritual. Very occasionally, the energies would collide with the priestess, and when this happened, a small sliver of blood would appear where the energy hit
her. Her flesh was being cut, methodically, with precision and with meticulous timing.

  Lorkayn exulted in the power. He had harnessed the energies present in the building around him, the ancient stone that reeked of magick and spell craft. It was a fitting place to enhance his own sorcery, and, combined with the forces of the gods within the priestess, he was building and refining that power for his own aims.

  He was chanting, loudly and incessantly, filling his lungs with the energies sweeping across the room. Each tentacle of light that skittered across the stone and rock of the building flared up as power was added to it. Each beam of energy that sliced into the priestess returned doubled in power. All of this new energy he fed into himself, a nucleus in the centre of this kaleidoscope, feeding from the power and growing.

  He let the power flow from him, creating large, dark pillars of obsidian as he pointed and shook the very air into matter. Within moments he had constructed a dark chamber made of these pillars, with a black roof holding them all together. In the middle of this chamber lay the priestess, breathing her dreams of virtue.

  The stone that made up the original chamber shook, as if the presence of the small chamber within it caused it to be afraid. Cracks appeared throughout the old chamber, the presence of a new and darker sorcery affecting the ancient stone that had been forged by the mages of Elrohen. For this new chamber was made not by Elrohen, but by something else. Something not of that world.

  Lorkayn stopped suddenly, to look up and regard his new creation. He walked underneath the black roof, and the pillars that kept it up. Here, the power was centralised, focused. Here, the priestess would rise again, but not as a servant to her old God. She would be reborn, and become a servant, a slave to his will and his bidding.

  The dark sorcerer smiled. It felt good.

  13. The Crystal Staff Keldoran clutched the still form of Relb between his arms, his face awash with tears. What had he done? Choking, he buried his face in Relb's tattered, charred clothing, and sobbed. He had not seen him! He thought he had been lashing out at the lizard man. His energy spent, his eyesight had returned, and he had seen with a sense of absolute horror the scene before him: Relb, on the ground, dead.