“You fight like a demon, girl,” the man said as Kiri reached him, positioning herself so that she stood between the man and Gavin.
Kiri allowed herself a smirk. “Sometimes, it takes a demon to kill a demon.”
The man scoffed. “Where’d you learn to fight? The Shadows don’t teach their assassins your level of blade-work.”
“Why should I tell you?” Kiri asked. “I doubt my teacher would offer you lessons.”
The man shrugged. “Fair enough. It’s just that you’ll give me my first challenge in a while, and I’d kind of like to know who I’m about to kill.”
Behind the man, Kiri saw the woman toss the ribcage aside and begin to stand. Not wanting to allow the man any more time to allow his associate to recover, Kiri threw herself at him. Their blades soon became a symphony of death, as each sought an opening amidst the attacks and parries. Kiri’s ferocity forced the man back as they danced, and she worked herself into the position she wanted, her right side partially exposed to the woman she’d hit with the ribcage. The woman on the ground was lifting her feet to begin the process of a kip-up, and Kiri drew her opponent into parrying a dual strike at his head. Before he could recover, Kiri drove a savage kick into his privates and pivoted toward the woman, using her lack of defense mid-move to slash her throat before returning her focus to the man.
Kiri saw the man’s eyes were on the now-dying woman collapsing back to the ground, and she met his gaze when he shifted it to her.
“Just who in Lornithar’s Abyss are you?” he growled as he pushed himself back to his feet. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”
Kiri wasn’t about to betray Gavin’s trust and tell whoever this guy was that she’d been trained by one of the Wraiths of Kirloth. She doubted if the guy even knew the Wraiths existed. Instead, she decided to try something else.
“I’m Kiri Muran, the Crown Princess of Vushaar,” she said, adding a smirk for flavor.
The man’s jaw dropped as he gaped at her, and when the tips of his short swords dropped, Kiri lunged. The short sword in her left hand slipped between the man’s ribs as she drove her other short sword into the man’s midriff just below his ribs and angled it up. Kiri pushed the swords with all her might, and she thought she felt the blades scrape across each other somewhere inside the man’s torso. The man started to lift his own swords, but the light in his eyes faded. The blades clattered as they struck the ground. As the man’s corpse collapsed to the ground, he pulled Kiri’s swords with him. She released her swords until the corpse settled on its back and then had to place her foot on the left shoulder while pulling at the swords to give her the leverage she needed to break the suction and retrieve them.
Kiri wiped her blades on the corpse and turned to help Gavin. Instead, she saw him collapse to his knees, and she didn’t realize the scream she heard came from her.
Chapter 36
Gavin and Nathrac appeared in an alleyway off the northeast plaza. The sounds of battle echoed all around them, a foul stench—worse than anything Gavin could remember—covered the air like a blanket.
“Do I want to know what that smell is?” Gavin asked, wrinkling his nose.
Nathrac shrugged. “Probably not, but you’re not getting away from it any time soon. That is the smell of a horde of undead in various stages of decay.”
Gavin turned to look at Nathrac. “So, this is what it smells like at Skullkeep all the time?”
“Yes.”
Gavin sighed. “Wow. It kind of makes me feel sorry for anyone alive there.” Then, Gavin shook his head to clear it and focus on the fight. “Okay. You go and oversee the defense. Do what needs done to ensure they don’t establish a foothold in the city. I’m going out there to distract the Necromancer and his people. Hopefully, it will keep them from noticing the army approaching North Gate.”
“I do not like leaving you alone to face them,” Nathrac said. “Your friends and associates were correct; it is unwise.”
“Sometimes, the best choices you have are unwise,” Gavin replied, adding a shrug. “We don’t have time for this, Nathrac. Go.”
“Very well. I hope to see you on the other side.”
The Chief of the Citadel Guard vanished in a column of flame that neither burned nor radiated heat.
Gavin squared his shoulders and walked to the plaza. He stepped out of the alleyway into the chaos, making his way to the relative calm at the center of the plaza. When he stepped out of the chaos, a black-robed figure gestured to him. A second robed figure with its back to Gavin turned, and he realized he now faced the Necromancer of Skullkeep.
The Necromancer walked toward Gavin, his lieutenants following, and Gavin approached. When they were about thirty feet apart, both parties stopped.
“So…Gavin Cross, the Archmagister of Tel,” the Necromancer remarked. “You’ve interfered in my plans entirely too much for one so young.”
Gavin shrugged. “You must be the Necromancer of Skullkeep, and as for interfering in your plans…well, I needed some way to pass the time. It’s so much fun I’ve decided to make a hobby of it.”
The Necromancer’s hands clenched into fists, and Gavin fought to maintain his non-expression, glad to see his barb draw blood.
“You were a fool to face me, Gavin Cross,” the Necromancer said. “There’s nothing to stop me killing you where you stand.”
“Just this,” Gavin replied, now allowing himself a smirk before he invoked a Word of Interation. “Thraxys!”
Gavin fully expected to see the Necromancer and his lieutenants collapse to the ground, dead. After all, that’s what happened every other time he’d used that specific Word. Alas, this time was not like all the others. The Necromancer simply remained where he stood, by all appearances, utterly unaffected. As for the lieutenants, the moment Gavin’s invocation attempted to take hold of them, ruby auras flashed into existence. They grimaced and clenched their fists but otherwise remained alive.
“Well,” the Necromancer remarked, his tone gloating, “I don’t think that went according to plan for you. I know how much you like that particular Word, so I gave my lieutenants a death ward before we arrived…on the off chance we’d meet you.”
“What about you?” Gavin asked. “Don’t you need a death ward, too?”
“Silly boy, I have long since become death incarnate.” The Necromancer used one hand to throw back the hood of his robe while his other opened it. At first, he appeared to be a normal man, but the semblance of normality quickly faded, and Gavin found himself looking at an upright skeleton with scraps of desiccated skin hanging off it.
Gavin’s first thought was that Othron had been a traitor all this time, but then, his rational mind took over. The lich standing before him, while similar to Othron in that they were both desiccated corpses physically, didn’t have the same bone structure or voice. Apparently, there was more than one lich in the world.
“So, that’s how you’re still alive after all these years,” Gavin said. “You’re a lich like Othron. He never mentioned training anyone, though.”
The Necromancer growled. “Do not speak that one’s name to me! He rejects the power this state permits and wants nothing more than to hide from the world in the ruins of his king’s keep. I will conquer Tel and return to Vushaar, and my first act in that realm will be the destruction of that worthless stack of bones.”
“You won’t conquer Tel as long as I live,” Gavin countered. “I challenge you to a Wizards’ Duel, right here and right now.”
“Why not? I’ll enjoy killing you either way, so I might as well have a bit of sport with it.”
They squared off as the Necromancer’s lieutenants stepped back to give them space. Soon, magical effect after magical effect shattered the relative calm of the northeast plaza as they hurled power at one another. First, Gavin was on the defensive, countering an invocation. Then, he riposted with an invocation of his own that the Necromancer countered. Fire, ice, acid, lightning—every element at an arcanist’s c
ommand and more flew between the two combatants.
And yet, it was all for naught. It seemed Gavin and Necromancer were evenly matched.
But Gavin had not started the duel at his full strength, and it was only a matter of time before his extreme power expenditure in Arundel caught up with him.
After what seemed like an eternity, with neither giving an inch, a piece of one of the Necromancer’s invocations slipped through Gavin’s defense. It was a core of earth wrapped inside a vitality-leeching effect. The earth core gave it a physical hit, and the leeching effect drained what little of Gavin’s strength remained. He collapsed to his knees as he fought to remain conscious. Dimly, he thought he heard someone scream his name, the voice so familiar his mind told him he should pay attention, but he was weak, so weak.
It was all Gavin could do to lift his head and face his opponent.
“At last,” the Necromancer gloated. “Tel Mivar shall be mine!”
The Necromancer lifted his hands and invoked a Word of Transmutation, flinging a seething orb of amber-colored power at Gavin. Just as the orb neared him, Gavin felt something slam into his back, and black-leather-clad arms wrapped around his torso. Gavin forced himself to focus on the orb, intent on dispelling it, but he had nothing left. Just before the orb struck him, Gavin felt it seem to spasm through his skathos, and then, everything went black.
The Necromancer soon found himself surrounded by his lieutenants as they cheered his success. He wanted nothing more than to bask in his victory, but there wasn’t time for that yet.
“You did it, Master!” the lieutenant who had advanced the plan of attacking Tel Mivar cheered. “The Archmagister is no more!”
A quiet, contemplative wizard who always seemed to be the reliable bedrock for the Necromancer slowly shook her head as she said, “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
Turning to face her, the Necromancer asked, “Oh? And just why is that? I ended him and whoever that was trying to save him with a disintegration effect.”
“If you disintegrated him, Master,” the wizard replied, “where is the pile of ash? Disintegration always leaves a pile of ash. Besides, look at the streetlamps. They only burn when there is a living Archmagister named by Bellos, and they’re still burning.”
The Necromancer pivoted, his eyes seeking out the nearest streetlamp. And…she was right. Somehow, the upstart puppy still lived!
An inarticulate scream of utter rage erupted from the Necromancer, and he grabbed the lieutenant who’d pressed for this futile attack, practically shouting, “Idluhn!”
The lieutenant erupted in flames and died screaming.
“Why?” the Necromancer raged as his former lieutenant burned. “Why do the gods hate me so? All I want to do is build a coalition capable of defeating Lornithar. I want to save this world. But no! I am defeated and opposed at every turn! Must I challenge the gods themselves to make this world safe? Is that what it will take?”
Unseen by the cluster of people surrounding the Necromancer, a black-robed figure slipped away from the crowd and walked toward the Temple of Valthon. The moment the figure set foot on the first of the Temple’s steps, the black began draining away like ink washed off in the rain. Half-way up the steps, no black remained, and a seemingly old man with wildly unkempt hair stumped up the steps, clad in a gray robe that was tattered and frayed around the hem.
“Heh,” he scoffed. “If he thinks I’ll allow him to interfere with plans I’ve built and carried across millennia, Drannos Muldannin is a bigger fool than I thought he was. I’ve spent too much time and effort ensuring a true Wizard of House Kirloth is alive and well to allow him to ruin everything we’ve built in the wake of the Godswar.” By now, the old man approached the vacant greeter’s desk. “And I told them all thousands of years ago. Nesta and I are not gods; we’re merely the caretakers the old gods assigned to watch over things.”
Without another word, the old man snapped his fingers, dispelling the lock Gavin had placed on the Temple and faded away like mist on the wind.
Chapter 37
Something hot and sticky warmed his cheek, neck, underside of his forearms, and the inside of his hands. The sun beat against the back of his neck, his forearms, and the backs of his hands. His awareness returned at a slow, crawling pace, and the next thing he realized was that someone was lying against his side. Then, a bone-deep throbbing ache forced itself into his awareness, and he almost wished he could go back to not awake. The nothingness of it was much more pleasant.
A thought exploded at the forefront of his mind. He was Gavin Cross, Head of House Kirloth and Archmagister of Tel. His city was under attack, and he’d been dueling the Necromancer of Skullkeep. What was really odd, though, was that Gavin couldn’t hear any sounds of battle around him. Nor did he smell the awful stench of undead he knew should be there.
Lifting his head and forcing his eyes open, Gavin saw a prostrate form at his side. From the length of hair and the body shape, he assumed it was a woman. The hair was glossy black, and what skin he could see seemed to bear an olive complexion. She wore a gray t-shirt, blue denim jeans, and tennis shoes. He pulled his eyes away from the woman at his side to take in more of his surroundings.
He and his companion occupied what appeared to be an alley. Gavin would’ve scoffed at waking up in another alley, except he hurt too much. He looked in front of him and froze at the sight across the street.
There was an aged storefront was directly across from the alley. A large placard above the storefront’s entrance held the business’s well-maintained sign: “Cross General Store, Est. 1743.”
It was then that Gavin knew…everything. He remembered his parents. He remembered his childhood, wedding, and the birth of his daughter Jennifer. He and his wife named her Jennifer Anne. Jennifer was his wife’s mother’s middle name, and Anne was his mother’s. His father’s name was Richard. His family had first settled in the region in the early 1700’s, founding the town and protecting it during the War for Independence and all the turmoil since.
He was home.
The home where he’d grown up. It hit him like a haymaker from a pro heavyweight boxer. Graham, Virginia. The United States of America. Earth. And he was one of the most powerful arcanists to have ever lived…in a world that believed magic didn’t exist.
Gavin put his head down on the alley’s pavement, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Oh, boy…”
What’s Next?
The story continues in “Home Sweet Home,” and I’m writing it during May of 2020.
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Author’s Note
17 April 2020
First and foremost, thank you for reading…both the novel and these notes! I hope you enjoyed Archmagister!
The past few months have certainly been…unusual, to say the least. I’m never really sure what I should write here, and these are such trying, uncertain times for many people of the world.
I have been extremely fortunate that the pandemic hasn’t really impacted me, aside from shortages in the stores and certain favored haunts shutting down. I know I am far, far more the exception than the rule.
I am already at work crafting the next volume of this series, “Home Sweet Home,” and I hope to have it ready for my new editor (whoever that turns out to be) by the end of May.
So far, the three editors I’ve had have all lived in different states, and the editors I’m consideri
ng also live in different states from those I’ve worked with before. If this trend continues, I feel like I should try to assemble the complete set…work with an editor from every state in the country by the time I retire. :P
As amusing at that thought is to me, I’m sure it’s the kind of professional goal I should have. I’d much rather find the editor, the one with whom I have excellent rapport and work with across the remainder of my career.
If someone were saying this to me, I’d give the person an encouraging smile and say, “I like working with an optimist.”
We’ll see how it goes.
I offer my best wishes to you and yours, especially with the world as it is right now, and I hope you’re able to stay as safe and healthy as possible.
If you’re still reading this, thanks for the dedication…or perhaps the curiosity. :) As I said above, I hope you enjoyed reading Archmagister. Thank you.
Typos
Typos and little slips in grammar are the bane of any author. Unfortunately, they are almost impossible to eradicate completely. I can show you many traditionally published books—twenty years old and more—that have a ‘whoopsie’ here and there.
That being said, if you find a typo or something that seems to be an error in grammar, please do not hesitate to contact me at [email protected].
I will periodically collate any emails and produce an updated PDF and eBook files, and I’ll make an announcement in my monthly newsletter when the updates have been published.
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