A Wizard's Tears Page 5

  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.

  He ripped the red robes she wore from her body lustily, making her gasp, not in terror, but in carnal need. The robes scattered to the floor like soft, red petals of a fading flower. Before him she stood, naked, her heaving breasts firm in the night breeze. His hands moved toward her, clasping each breast, his fingers rolling over her stiffening nipples.

  A soft moan escaped her lips as they parted slightly, her eyes transfixed to his, dreamy and eager. He marvelled at her beauty, her long, cascading black hair, the whiteness and smoothness of her skin, her penetrating green eyes, urging him on. Her lips were red and full, pouting, murmuring for him to touch her. So he did.

  One of his hands snaked downward, to linger, softly caressing her. With a hoarse cry of delight her body collapsed against his, wanting, needing the closeness of skin and flesh. Entwined thus, he leaned down and kissed her, his teeth gently grazing and nibbling her soft lips.

  Yes, I have need. Come sorcerer, come and satisfy my cravings for your muscular, magickal flesh.

  The image faded, but its intensity rippled through him in waves. Again he looked and saw the forest around him; the two bodies he had killed lay at his feet. Taking a deep breath, the dark wizard forced his taut nerves to calm. The visions would be solved. Already he had sensed a name, whispered on the air: Vergail. It was the woman, unbidden in his mind, filling him with passion, but at the same time, a nebulous fear. Lorkayn did not enjoy this feeling. He had never been frightened in his entire life, yet these visions and dreams obscuring his mind made his senses reel in shock. Some strange magick was present here, conjuring these thoughts to him. Perhaps it was the gods that had banished him, somehow clinging on to his brain and senses with the tenacity of a squid’s tentacle on its dying prey. The wizard snorted in renewed anger and defiance. Let them play with his mind, for now. He would find his way back to Mincalen, and then all would pay for this ridicule. First, though, he would find this Vergail.

  Silently, the sorcerer walked through the forest, following Nagoth, his mind lost in thought. In anguish branches and roots curled away from his presence, the magicks within him conflicting with those of the land of Elrohen.

  Alteus listened with rising trepidation to Nagoth, who had returned to the village gibbering like an idiot, his eyes wide in terror as he recalled the violent deaths of his comrades. The village leader blanched visibly at the graphic detail Nagoth gave of their deaths, and indeed, of the fact that their poison dart, which had felled huge bear like creatures in their forest, known as G’zel, in seconds, had done nothing to the dark sorcerer. Nagoth explained the sorcerer was close to their village, which had prompted the need to try and capture him.

  “Nagoth,” said Alteus, putting a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I command you to travel to Malana to seek counsel with the high mages. They will have heard of this renegade wizard, and will know what to do. You will be of no more use here.”

  Nagoth nodded, understanding. Secretly, he was glad to do this errand. He would be away from the wizard when he arrived in their village.

  “Go with speed,” said Alteus. “We will guard Rannos to the last Norfel. I will speak with this wizard. Perhaps words will be of more use than a poisoned dart.” His face did not look reassuring, and if anything, his face grew darker. Alteus found himself frowning.

  “Why are we being attacked?” squeaked Nagoth, more to himself than to Alteus. “First the slardinian infiltrates our forest and kills three of us, now this sorcerer kills two more. We only seek peace with other nations, and to protect our villages from harm.”

  Alteus nodded. “I know, Nagoth. These are strange days. Go to Malana. Seek help. We will be here when you return.”

  A shout by a guard alerted him. The wizard had been spotted.

  Alteus embraced Nagoth in a fierce hug, then left his friend to approach the main gateway to his village.

  He watched the sorcerer approach in strong, forceful strides. His appearance startled the Norfel. His robe was in rags, he bled through many old wounds. Yet his face seemed cast in stone – a deep, penetrating glare filled with fire and power. Alteus blanched in a sudden fear.

  “Stop, and name yourself!” said Alteus, his voice cracking as his nerve faltered.

  The sorcerer paid no heed, and carried on walking, his eyes not even looking at Alteus, but beyond, as if he was in some form of trance.

  Several Norfel guards appeared, spears in trembling hands, looking to their leader for the command to attack this intruder. Alteus shook his head furiously, ordering the guards to back down. He did not believe the sorcerer could be subdued by their weapons. Again, he attempted to speak. His voice quivered now, the wizard was nearly upon him!

  “P-please,” Alteus stammered, “We mean no harm to you. We only seek to protect our village-“

  His voice trailed off as the sorcerer walked past him, not even glancing in his direction. Alteus looked in horror at the ground the man walked on: it was burning, grass dying – his very feet ignited the land in abhorrence! Alteus sensed the incredible power and aura around this man, and backed away from him. “Let him pass!” he spoke to his fellows. “Leave him be!”

  Nobody argued. All eyes were on the stranger. All faces held frightened awe. Everyone could detect the dark magicks of the one before them. It guaranteed respect. Deep down, each Norfel knew that if they attacked, they would be dead before their body hit the ground.

  Lorkayn ignored the scurrying of the creatures before him. They were of no importance. Vergail. The name pierced his mind, wrapped around his soul. The images had coursed through him: a great library, a city made of white and gold marble, a great cathedral with colossal spires arching towards the very stars themselves in their monumental height, and a road – a route to this great city. All these images and details embedded themselves in his brain, and although he did not understand their origin, he knew he must follow the map they had created. They showed him the way to this high priestess, and to his future. He could not deny any of this.

  A growl stopped his reveries and brought him back to the forest. What was this? He walked past a lizard man, held captive by a gold chain attached to a statue.

  In a rush his mind knew who the statue represented: Untaba, god of survival, the god Vergail herself served! He frowned slightly at his knowledge, and tried to sense the magicks spinning within him that told him all these facts. He snarled in anger and frustration. Something was leading him to this priestess; he was not in any control. This manipulation by an unseen hand irked the sorcerer immensely, but he knew he had to follow. The city and the priestess would have all the answers he sought.

  Perhaps, he surmised, this creature would be of some use to him. It was chained by Untaba’s servants. If it was an enemy of the god, Vergail would be pleased to see it brought before her own eyes to inflict her own justice. It would be a gift, from him to her. The thought pleased him.

  Lorkayn moved closer to the reptilian, chanting softly to himself. The creature hissed at him, forked tongue lashing out at him in disdain. His spell complete, Lorkayn pointed at the chain. It snapped in two, releasing the Slardinian from his captivity.

  The Slardinian’s eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious. The mages of Elrohen feared and hated his kind. Why would this one aid him? Hissing, the lizard man crouched down, tail coiled between his legs like an angry snake, ready to pounce if need arose.

  Lorkayn whispered words, casually walking toward the Slardinian. He was unconcerned by the threat before him, as if the reptilian was as harmful to him as soft drizzle was upon his face. Growling, the Slardinian bared its fangs, drool dripping from its vicious canines. It was his final warning to the wizard to stay back.

&nbs
p; Alteus and his followers watched on in silence, knowing better than to interfere. The Norfel knew when to be bold, and when to stay quiet. It was their secret stealth like nature that had kept them from extinction.

  The wizard leaned forward, and patted the Slardinian on the head. Alteus expected the reptilian to lunge for the sorcerer’s throat, but he did not. In fact, he noted with unease the reptilian’s wagging tail – a sign of welcome and greeting.

  The spell complete, the sorcerer looked into the Slardinian’s eyes. They were glazed, as if not seeing the world properly. Smiling, he knew his incantation had charmed the creature to his will. He would follow the wizard and do his bidding until he was released from the spell. Confident, Lorkayn turned and walked away from the clearing, his new pet, the Slardinian, walking behind him silently.

  Behind them, the Norfel drew sharp breaths of relief. Alteus was glad to see them both go. He would mourn the deaths of his fellows that had died today, but would celebrate the fact that Rannos still stood intact. He, like the others, knew how close their village had become to annihilation: the power of the wizard was palpable, and unlike anything he had ever witnessed.

  He prayed for Nagoth, and hoped he had done the right thing in sending his scout to Malana for aid. “May Untaba guide you,” he murmured for his friend, bowing before the statue.

  The gold statue of Untaba looked on, unmoving, staring at the retreating wizard as he receded into the distance. At its feet, the broken chain slowly began to disintegrate into dust, the spell that had split it asunder weaving its last black magicks upon its metal.

  Overhead, thunder boomed across the gathering clouds in the sky.

  6. City Of Gold

  The pale sun breathed new life to the dull morning. Keldoran emerged from the mage’s small tent, acknowledging the watery sun with a slight nod. It had been quite a night; he did not think any of them had slept a wink. Following the departure of the strange storm, the rain had stopped abruptly. The mage had urged them to try and get some rest. He had sounded nervous, which, in a mage, caused immense concern to the rest of them. Mages were never afraid, they were heroes of the people, protectors and solid in all things. To see one of them genuinely worried about the night’s events made them seem, well, only human.