A Wizard's Tears Page 16
The mages, under Suralubus' instruction, joined the battle, attacking the Slardinian army with what magick they had left to command. The chamber was filled with sounds of fireballs and missiles hitting scaly flesh, and of wings flapping and talons scratching.
Suralubus fought blindly, in instinct, his mind thinking of Vergail and her change. He had to reach her, and wrest her away from the dark stranger that had caused so much pain and destruction in but a few hours. Vergail would come to her senses. Her god would help her. Suralubus clung to these thoughts, these hopes, for hope was something that made him endure, and fight all the stronger. A lizard man reached for him with talons stretched and a sneer on its lips. With a quick side step, Suralubus dodged the clumsy blow and brought his own fist down on the creature's head, sending a wave of electrical energy racing down its body from his hand. It fell to the ground, smoke rising from its body.
The kill filled Suralubus with adrenaline, and anger. So many, killed today, innocent and caring individuals, through no fault of their own. He wondered if these lizard creatures, these clones, could feel any pain or suffering. He hoped they did. He hoped that for each one that died, a piece of their pain would strike the sorcerer, and send him reeling. It was a fool's hope, but one Suralubus took to heart. He wanted to kill each and every one of these foul beasts. He needed to hurt the sorcerer, to wound him for the torment and grief he had caused to his beloved city. Behind the battle, Vergail and Lorkayn kissed, waves of energy coruscating through them. Vergail was stronger, seductive, pulling Lorkayn to her violently, wanting him. She attacked his robe, ripping it free of him. Her teeth played with his neck, nibbling and sucking his skin. With a moan, she locked her tongue to his, and sparks of magick issued from their mouths.
Lorkayn had a moment to savour the magick that tantalised his tongue and lips, to celebrate his growing power, before his mind lost its plotting and cunning to the throes of passion. Something hidden, deep inside of him, emerged once more, and for one brief moment the sorcerer felt an emotion he had not felt in years. An emotion that he had felt but once before, when he had been a young man, courting a fair maiden in the green land of his youth.
It was the pure, innocent thrill of a first kiss, or a lover's caress. It was the sweet, homely feeling of longing.
15. Ice Magick
"Keldoran, he's coming round!" Yvanna's voice held a note of awe as well as excitement. Keldoran had led them easily out of the catacombs, back to the chamber where Corg had still lain. Quickly, using the crystal staff, Keldoran had poured some of the magick from the staff to Corg, imbuing him with the blue energy of healing. Corg, now, lifted his head off the ground, blinked a few times, and looked at the two humans before him.
Yvanna hugged Corg excitedly. “We thought you were going to die,” she whispered to him. “Keldoran saved you. I wouldn’t believe it, but he said he could, and now he has! I’m so glad to have you back Corg.”
She would not let go, and Corg, awkwardly, pushed her away. What had happened to make Yvanna so clinging, so nervous, so happy to see him alive? They had barely spoken two words since knowing each other. With consciousness came remembrance. The Slardinian!
“The lizard man,” started Corg, memory flooding into his brain. “What became of the lizard man?”
Yvanna babbled out the events as they had occurred. Corg’s eyes grew sombre indeed at the news of the death of Nagoth and Relb. As Yvanna told him the story, his eyes caught Keldoran’s, and he could see the hurt deep inside the young man. This was a tragedy: a young man, in his prime, trying to cope with strange magicks rife in his body, had killed another, purely by accident. Corg could only imagine what that felt like.
Yvanna carried on hurriedly, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. She told Corg of their trip into the catacombs, of Keldoran saving himself using the crystal staff, and then their return trip back to the chamber where they had left him.
“Then we healed you, using the staff,” finished Yvanna.
Corg looked in awe at the crystal staff, which sparkled blue energies along its icy exterior. Such power, it had Ice Lord’s magick. The Bu’Kep bowed low before Keldoran, in gratitude, and in humility.
“I thank you, Keldoran, for saving my life. I am forever in your debt. The power you possess now is beyond any of our imaginings, only the Ice Lords themselves could understand it. You may well hold the key to defeating the sorcerer.”
Keldoran grabbed hold of Corg, lifting him to his feet. The juggler looked at him in alarm.
“I am not your master!” screeched Keldoran in rage. “I am a murderer. I killed Relb, don’t you see? Don’t you understand? I killed an innocent young man! No one should ever bow to me, or worship me. You hear? Nobody!”
Keldoran let go of Corg, and collapsed in a corner of the chamber, his body convulsing in spasms of grief as he cried. Huge sobs, the noise filling and echoing in the stillness of the chamber, struck through Corg and Yvanna’s hearts, never to be forgotten.
Corg approached Keldoran quietly and carefully. He had not known the full extent of the man's grief, and he was sorry for that. “Keldoran,” he said gently, “I am sorry for you, but you were not in control of your magick when Relb died. The only person to be blamed in this has green scales, and a forked tongue. The Slardinian must be punished for this pain, this anguish, not you. Do not persecute yourself. We will mourn, and bury the two people who tried to save our lives. They were both honourable men, even Nagoth, and for me to say that of a Norfel commands the highest compliment I can bestow on their people.”
Keldoran did not answer, but his sobbing quietened. Corg turned away from him slightly, to look at the body of the Norfel. Corg’s stomach churned at the sight of Nagoth, with his rib cage showing through his green flesh. Tears came to the juggler’s eyes, and he blinked them away angrily. Was this compassion he was feeling, for a Norfel? His race would kill him on the spot for such idiocy! The Norfel were their most hated race, their bitter enemies. Since the war, when they had not helped them, causing the slaughter of many of his race, the Bu’Kep had only one motive for meeting with a Norfel: vengeance.
Yet, on this day, a Norfel had saved his life. History had been made. For once, a Norfel had voluntarily come to the aid of a Bu’Kep. Corg could not fathom this out. Shaking the tear away from his face, he knew he did not need to. Nagoth had been honourable, and, at this moment, he would vow never again to look at the Norfel as mere cattle for revenge. He had learned something greater, on this day.
Corg looked at the body of Relb, too, and felt anger, not towards Keldoran, but for the Slardinian. He hoped the blast Keldoran had given the lizard man had shown him pain, and fear. “We will bury these two with honour. I will recite a Bu’Kep prayer, the highest respect I can give, aiding the spirits of these two across to the other side.” The juggler turned to look once more at Keldoran. “I will need your help, Keldoran.”
Keldoran had stopped crying, and looked up at the juggler. His face was wet with tears. His eyes burned despair. His mouth, as indeed, his whole body, trembled as he spoke. “How can I help you?” he said simply. His tone was soft, quiet, but determined.
Corg gave out his hand to help Keldoran up. For a moment Keldoran just stared at the hand, not moving. Then he reached out and took Corg’s hand, and the Bu’Kep pulled him up to stand once more. “Many people succumb to despair and pain,” said Corg. “Many people end their lives, burdened with guilt and anguish. You are not one of those people, Keldoran. You have strength, and resolve. Let us bury our friends, and find out how the people of this city are faring. If their battle goes ill, we will help them. If we die, then we also die – but with honour. Are you with me?”
He glanced over at Yvanna as well. “Are you with me?” he repeated.
Keldoran was the first to speak. “I am with you,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for being weak, and for my harsh words earlier. Relb would want me to carry on, to take the fight to the sorcerer himself. He would have been proud of me. Wha
t I do now, I do for him. There will not be a day when I will not mourn his passing, nor a day when I will not regret my magick, but I will not kill myself, or fall to despair. That would just make Relb’s death irrelevant, somehow. His death has changed me, forever. I will live with my change.”
“I am with you both,” said Yvanna simply, although with fear. She did not know what she could do to help, but she knew she must. She too, would not see the death of Relb and Nagoth to be in vain, to be meaningless.
Corg sensed the change in them both, and wondered briefly whether it was because he was with them, making decisions again: the leader supporting the morale of his companions, it would seem. “Thank you, both,” he said. “You have both spoken wisely. You are beyond your years in understanding, such is the way of things when someone you know dies. Let us talk no more. Keldoran, I will need your magick to dig holes in this hard stone before us. We should bury them both here, as monuments to what occurred, so everyone that comes here will know what happened. It should never be forgotten.”
Keldoran raised the crystal staff in the air, and willed the ice magick to escape from it. Slowly, it left the staff, a blue line of energy, hitting the stone floor before them. Focusing his mind, Keldoran let the magick flow more strongly, burrowing its way into the stone. Yvanna could only watch in bewildered awe at the power Keldoran possessed.
Once Keldoran had hollowed out his two graves, he helped Corg and Yvanna to lift the bodies and place them in their new, separate homes. He looked long at Relb, studying every contour of his face, every part of charred clothing, committing it to memory. He would see this every night, in his dreams. He was meant to see it every night.
“Goodbye, Relb,” he whispered to himself. “Forgive me.”
Corg wept as he lay Nagoth to rest, folding his arms and trying to give his corpse a dignified appearance, but it was futile with his rib cage poking through his skin. Crying hard, with no attempt at covering up his grief to the others, Corg wept not just for Nagoth, but for the entire feud between his race and theirs. So much blood and pain, and for naught! He could see it clearly now. Events happened for a reason, and sometimes, they cannot be explained, or understood. Rage should have been brought down on the Slardinian race, not on the Norfel. Corg wept, and he was glad he wept.
When the bodies were in place, Keldoran moved the staff horizontally along the graves. The blue energy crackled, and shot out from the sides of the staff, hitting the walls of the chamber. Sizzling, the energy fused against the wall, understanding its structure. With this understanding came creation and knowledge. The blue energy tore away from the wall, and covered each grave in turn. When Keldoran finally stopped the flow of the energy, in its place was a layer of stone, slightly raised, completing the tops of the graves.
Corg began to chant, reciting his prayer. It was in a language only he could understand, but Yvanna and Keldoran could discern the meaning. He was preparing the way, easing the transition for the souls to travel their journey to the gods. As he spoke, tears fell openly down his cheeks.
Yvanna stood beside Keldoran, and hugged him. Keldoran was glad of her presence, and leaned towards her, and the warmth of her body. Together, they mourned for Nagoth and for Relb.
Corg’s prayer ended, and he bowed his head, grieving. These moments were for the two lain to rest. These moments were a time of reflection, of removing guilt, of hardening resolve. These moments were what made people stronger.
They stood before the graves for a long time.
16. Summoning of the Portal
The battle raged with renewed fury. To Suralubus, it seemed a fight they could not win. The army of cloned Slardinians were proving to be vicious, deadly foes. Numerous birdmen fell to the blow of claws and talons, their heart pumping out their life’s blood through mortal wounds. Mages alike fell to the assault of the relentless lizard men. For each clone that was cut down, two more seemed to fill their place.
Vo’Loth, the Ice Lord, was unmoving. He watched the battle. His elite force of birdmen dispatched any lizard men who came close to him, protecting him. Suralubus became annoyed. Why didn’t he do something? He had the power to turn the tide in this small war, why was he prepared to stand back and watch? There had to be a reason for it, but for now it completely escaped all logic and reason to the mage.
Unbeknown to Suralubus, Vo’Loth was taking part in the combat. The Ice Lord’s mind stretched across the chamber to the very source of the power: Lorkayn and Vergail. Snaking, like a coiled python, the Ice Lord’s mind bit into Lorkayn’s, stopping his mind from complete concentration on Vergail, and the rising power between them. Words came into his mind from the Ice Lord, touching him, filling him with cold magick. He did not understand the words, but recognised a spell when he heard it.
Vergail was unaware of the Ice Lord’s attack, and was kissing Lorkayn violently, causing bursts of energy to escape from her mouth as Lorkayn sucked out her last remaining power, and her strength. He felt his body nurture and feed on the energies, Vergail’s own body wilting against him, feeling weaker. Still she persisted in kissing, and touching him everywhere. She clung to him tenaciously.
Vo’Loth could sense the passion between the two through his mind link, and could detect the presence of Untaba, the god of survival, through Vergail, hanging on desperately in rage to his beloved priestess. The Ice Lord’s eyes widened at the forces within Lorkayn, the dark sorcery that was feeding on the might of Untaba himself! Such a force of nature was unheard of in Elrohen, and Vo’Loth could only surmise that the magick on the sorcerer’s world was greater than their own, rivalling the gods they worshipped and admired. It made sense. The simplicity of Lorkayn’s victory over the mages of Malana, and indeed, of everyone who had come into contact with him proved he held the greater power.
Vergail, however, was a different story. She was born in Elrohen, and owed all her powers to Untaba, the god she had painstakingly revered. Immediately, knowing his logic was undeniable, Vo’Loth switched his mind attack from Lorkayn to the priestess. If he could sever their link, it would stop the sorcerer feeding off Untaba, and might give them a chance to collectively strike.
The force of the Ice Lord’s mental burst struck Vergail, hard. It was as if hundreds of people were screaming inside her head, and her mind shrunk away from it. With a shriek she let go of Lorkayn, clutching hold of her head in pain. The link between them had been cut!
With anger Lorkayn turned to look at the Ice Lord. He would not be thwarted in his task now, especially by this blue skinned annoyance!
Impassive, Vo’Loth appeared unmoved by the show of anger. Pointing at the sorcerer, the Ice Lord ordered his birdmen protectors away from him, and into the air. Fly, my allies of Isoch, fly, above the lizards and men. Strike at the heart of our peril, and fear not his power!
The birdmen responded to the Ice Lord's call, rising into the air like a swarm of angry locusts. They flew high, up to the ceiling, away from any lizard men's claws. Like a deadly black cloud about to open its water, the group of birdmen hovered above the sorcerer. In unison they dove, wings outstretched, beaks and fists ready to strike down Lorkayn.
Lorkayn seethed with rage. His connection with Vergail was paramount to his power reaching the required amount for what he wanted to do. With that momentarily severed, he would have to use valuable energy ridding himself of the creatures that swooped towards him. More frustrated than afraid, Lorkayn hurled a bolt of lightning from his fingertips, as if conjured from nowhere, straight at the birdmen.
Several of the birdmen were caught in the sudden blast of electricity, and were tossed to the ground, burning and howling. Others avoided the blast, but it slowed down their descent, and made them squawk angrily to each other. With snarls of fury, they surged downward to confront the dark sorcerer in melee.
One lashed out with its beak, catching Lorkayn on the shoulder, and drawing blood. Another kicked the sorcerer's head. They gathered around him, biting, scratching, and punching.
Lor
kayn thrust his arms outward, and an invisible wall knocked the birdmen in front of him backwards. The one above him, attacking his head, continued to do so, watching with satisfaction and squawking animatedly as he saw cuts appearing on his neck and skin.
Without seeming to weaken from the onslaught, Lorkayn raised his hands and grabbed the birdman's legs. With a word of dark sorcery, the sorcerer ignited the creature, and threw the shrieking, burning mass into the other birdmen that were regrouping to attack.
Suralubus saw the birdmen striking the sorcerer, inflicting cuts and wounds, and was fuelled with renewed hope. If they could break through to him, then so could he! He attacked the lizard men with vigour, hoping to break through their ranks and get to the sorcerer. If he could lend his magick to the birdmen's attack, they might be able to subdue him and end this battle.
Yet the lizard men were stiff opposition. They fought with rage and passion, and there just seemed to be hundreds of them. Mages struggled just to survive, let alone try and reach Lorkayn. Now, with the bulk of the birdmen attacking the sorcerer, they had even more to deal with. Bodies littered the floor, lizard men, birdmen, and mages alike. Suralubus grieved each time he saw one of his brethren lying on the ground, unmoving.
Why had this happened? What was it the sorcerer was after? All this death, from one being, not even born of this world! It just did not make sense…how could Untaba have allowed this damage? Suralubus knew that, even if things turned to their advantage, there would be questions raised for years after this event, demanding why such tragedies had to occur.
He had no more time to think. A lizard man leapt towards him, teeth baring, snarling. Caught unawares, the creature slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Before he had a chance to stand up the thing was upon him, slashing his face with sharp talons. He tasted his own blood on his tongue.
A birdman swooped down out of nowhere and grabbed the Slardinian, carrying the creature aloft with it. Once the birdman had reached a suitable height he let the writhing lizard man go. With a scream of bestial rage the creature plummeted to its doom, smashing with harsh impact on the ground, its bones snapping loudly.