Return of the Wizard King

by Chad Corrie

  “Or give Valan time to reach his goal,” said Morro.

  “I don’t think he ever will.” Boaz slowed as they neared the place where the stairs turned into the ascending hallway. Elek, the last of the subchieftains who’d taken the steps before them, was opening the hidden door at the hallway’s end.

  As they neared him, Kaden observed a line about as thick as a hand’s width, glowing with a faint white light in the middle of the wall. It always rose from its dormancy as people neared, rising parallel to the stairs and ascending on both of the corridor’s walls to where the door and walls met. What it did and why it was there was just one of many things no one—not even Valan—could figure out. At least it created enough light for continuing their climb.

  “I’ll leave at once,” said Kaden. “If we press hard all the way there and back—”

  “Just be wise and attack at night,” Boaz instructed. “The more you can hide your actions, the better. Enough of the ruins have been rebuilt to withstand an assault, but I’d rather not test them just yet.”

  Nodding, Kaden helped Boaz onto the last step and through the door that Elek had opened for them. A heartbeat later they’d all finally ascended from the accursed abyss and into the brilliant light of late afternoon. Singing birds and other melodious sounds of jungle life nearly succeeded in helping Kaden forget the last few moments of his life. Nearly, but not quite. Already his thoughts flew around plans and tactics for what lay ahead. Like Boaz had said, a night raid would be the best, but it would take time to assemble the right men for the task. Time that had been secured at a terrible cost and couldn’t be wasted.

  Leaving Elek to take his place, Kaden hurried toward his duty.

  Hadek observed Valan feverishly recording the results of his recent experiment from a short distance away, ready to provide anything the wizard might require as quickly as possible. He’d learned the hard way what it meant being tardy in taking up the mage’s commands. As he stood at the ready, he noted Valan’s brown hair now fell over his shoulders. It hadn’t been that long when he’d first arrived, but the mage didn’t seem too concerned about cutting it anytime soon. He did manage to bathe and keep himself clean shaven, as Hadek had never known the wizard to get as rank as some of the hobgoblins, who often put off a bath longer than they should.

  Valan was also rather thin and pale—at least for what Hadek thought was right for his race in general. He’d only read about Telborians, and before Valan, had never seen one in the flesh. The mage’s paleness had grown more pronounced since his arrival; he never left the chamber. Hadek didn’t know when he ate, if ever, but supposed he had to at some time, else he’d be dead by now. But these were all just surface thoughts—simple observations that helped him pass the time, to try to make sense of the man he’d come to serve for the promise of his continued life. More and more he found himself wondering if that promise was more curse than reward.

  “So why did he survive?” Valan spoke aloud in Telboros. Unsure if he was speaking to himself or wanted a reply, Hadek didn’t answer. He’d made that mistake once too often too.

  “Is Boaz a full hobgoblin?” Valan sought Hadek for an answer.

  His brow furrowed as he replied. “What do you mean?”

  “What of his parents—his lineage—are they all hobgoblins? No mixed races in this family line?”

  “No.” Hadek wasn’t even aware it was possible for hobgoblins to sire anything but hobgoblins. While there were some more fanciful tales about their origins, the jarthalian races—ogres, hobgoblins, and goblins—had never sired anything but their own races, and then only with others of their same race.

  “Then what is it? Random chance? How did he live?” Valan contemplated the mosaic on the far wall of the room opposite the stairs. While it seemed a simple spiral design of azure and violet tiles, he knew it was far more than that. Valan had shared it was the way he’d initially come to the ruins. As to how it worked, Hadek had no idea. In truth, he didn’t really desire to know. He was too consumed with the task of staying alive.

  “Do you need anything else?” Hadek braved.

  “No. I’ll summon you when you’re needed.” Valan kept his eyes on the mosaic, pondering.

  Hadek made his departure. He wasn’t going to stay any longer than he had to. In the midst of everything else seeking to confine him, he’d found a place he thought a safe-enough retreat. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and any bright spot in these dark days was a welcome thing. He hurried to the stairs and started climbing.

  So rapid was his climb and his mind so focused on seeking his place of refuge that he rushed headlong into one of the two guards Boaz had assigned to guard the secret door. The guard wasn’t pleased with the collision and planted his fist into Hadek’s jaw. This punch sent Hadek flying into the statue blocking the hidden doorway with enough force to drive the air out of his lungs.

  “You’re lucky Boaz is still alive,” the guard yelled at Hadek. “When the rest of the tribe hears what happened, you’re going to get just as much of the blame.”

  Hadek gave a huff through his sore teeth and swelling lips, sending out a fine bloody mist over his tunic. Grunting as he forced himself upright, he carefully made his way around the two guards and started down the hallway.

  “You and your master are going to pay,” the same guard called after him. “You hear me, you little rat? You should’ve been the first one we tossed into that column!”

  Hadek heard him but tried his best to put it out of mind as he entered the former altar room. Now completely empty, only the bloodstains remained to haunt the living. Hadek did his best at ignoring them, focusing on the wall opposite him. He headed straight for the old door standing close to the stone pillar. Though part of the original ruins the door still opened smoothly.

  Once through he made his way down a short corridor, proceeding through the dim walkway until he reached another door with light issuing from a thin crack beneath. He flung it wide, letting daylight stream into the dingy hallway as he shielded his squinting eyes.

  He entered an open area that had once been a beautiful courtyard. Prior to the tribe’s habitation, it’d been left to the jungle’s mercy. Now that it had been reinhabited, the tribe had cleaned up much of the old debris and choking growth, restoring the courtyard to at least some of its former glory. Hadek slowly made his way over what had become a well-beaten path. It brought him around a collection of tall, headless statues, which he noted as he spat out more blood. He could feel his jaw throbbing and knew it would begin swelling soon enough.

  “So what now?” he asked himself as he slumped onto a broken bottom half of a pillar. In some ways he found himself yearning for how things used to be. While it may not have been ideal, what he’d known before had a certain element of order and structure, not the constant uncertainty these new days wrought. It also had its fair share of challenges, but at least Hadek knew what he was up against. In dealing with Valan he never truly felt secure from one day to the next.

  Boaz had survived the Transducer, but what next? Hadek knew the chieftain wasn’t going to do it again . . . at least he was pretty sure of that. He was surprised Boaz volunteered in the first place, but to try risking it a second time? He didn’t think so. So that put them where? The lottery? Nothing good could come of that, and if he was getting beaten up now what would follow after a few weeks of more hobgoblins getting killed by Valan?

  Maybe it was time to finally think about leaving. He’d entertained the thought at various times throughout his life but never taken it up for fear of having a worse existence somewhere else. From what he’d lived through so far, Hadek believed he didn’t really have a place in the world. No purpose. No reason for being. At least with the tribe there was somewhere he fit—or rather was wedged into a spot to serve some sort of purpose. But now . . . now what could come next could very well make a place outside the tribe—no matter how far-fetched—attractive in comparison.

  Seeking to clear his thoughts, he took in th
e headless statues around him. He’d often look up into the forms and wonder who carved them. Certainly not anyone the goblin knew of. They looked like no race he’d ever seen. The priests said they were statues of the dranors, but they couldn’t really prove it. From what he’d learned serving Valan, however, it was possible. Valan believed the Transducer was crafted by them, and so it stood to reason the statues had been too.

  Without their heads, though, it was impossible to know for sure. Whoever they were made to represent, they were strongly built, crafted from hard stone, and their bodies were well muscled yet slender. This, in effect, made them seem more mythical than real. Hacked off by what looked like sword and axe strikes, the missing heads were nowhere to be found. Hadek had given it a go shortly after he found the place and turned up nothing for his efforts.

  Goblins, and hobgoblins for that matter, had never been very interested in tales of the ancient past or how they related to the present—at least the ones Hadek knew. Only stories measured in generations were the stock and trade of their firelight tales—things noble and true to goblinkind about goblinkind. This, of course, meant hobgoblins, not goblins. Here again Hadek was the exception. It was through his experiences with the priests he’d come to know of a higher culture and the importance of history as a tool for understanding the world.

  From the priests he’d learned that the dranors commanded vast territories under their empire, making a great name for themselves before vanishing. This was the same race Valan so longed to tap into in order to gain their knowledge and power. Hadek had begun learning more about such things, but what he caught were mere snippets here and there—scraps he gobbled up when Valan wasn’t looking. It didn’t help he wasn’t free to pursue such topics, too busy fearing the next tirade he’d have to endure.

  And Valan seemed to be unleashing more of them with each failed experiment. One day, the wizard would snap, and he hoped he was far away when it happened. Shivering at the thought of what a truly insane wizard was capable of, Hadek forced his mind onto something more soothing, expelling what stress and worry he could with a sigh. It didn’t work as well as he had hoped.

  As night spread over the Abyss, Cadrith leaned back in his throne, taking a break from studying the scrying skull. So Valan had actually gotten the Transducer to work. A strange turn of events, but Cadrith doubted there would be any further successes. He could tell just by what he’d seen and learned since he first came upon the wizard that any effort was a fool’s errand. While the success was interesting, it didn’t really play into Cadrith’s larger picture. Thankfully, the hobgoblin hadn’t died. That would have set off more instability, perhaps forcing him to act sooner than he was prepared to. There were still a few loose threads needing some attention. One of them he could feel entering the room now.

  Like thickening smoke, a shadowy entity began coalescing behind the throne. Cadrith didn’t have to turn around to know it was there—coiling up and around like a snake. Acting quickly, he waved his hand over the scrying skull, extinguishing Valan’s image from its surface, while leaving the violet and silver runes to glow amid the bone.

  “You’ve been silent of late. Too silent for my liking.” Not even the scrying skull’s glowing runes could illuminate Sargis’ semihumanoid form floating just behind the throne. From the waist up he resembled a sort of dark-skinned giant. From the waist down he was a mass of black cloud and mist. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get a solid body to form below his waist. Even his former wings failed to manifest in this spiritual form.

  When they first met Sargis was dying. Seeing an opportunity, Cadrith made a show of saving the greater demon’s life. He claimed the shadowy form was the only way he could have kept Sargis’ spirit from total annihilation. He also assured him the situation was temporary. He’d be able to find a remedy but it would take some time. And Cadrith would use that time to find a secure environment to complete his plans. In the meantime Sargis was kept dependent on Cadrith.

  As long as he pretended to make some progress in finding a cure Sargis was willing—though more and more grudgingly—to acquiesce to the lich’s demands. But as the years increased the ploy wore thin, forcing Cadrith to make a new offer. He’d take Sargis to Tralodren with him, where the demon not only would be physically restored, but able to build a new base of power from which to rule. Yet while this new offer was gladly accepted, it couldn’t mend the frayed strands of their relationship. Soon enough the final threads would snap and then . . .

  “When I have something to tell you, I will.” Cadrith’s skeletal hands rested on the throne’s armrests in a show of quiet resolve and patience. “Didn’t Akarin make that clear to you?”

  “Unless it’s something you don’t want me to know.” Sargis’ glowing red eyes danced with a sinister glee as he floated to the front of the throne. Cadrith put on a show of ignoring the demon, but could only pull off a halfhearted effort.

  “I thought you said you’d found a suitable pawn.” Gazing at the skull, Sargis continued, “What else do you need?”

  “Time and silence,” Cadrith said, tilting his head in the demon’s direction.

  “Ah, but time is something you don’t have too much of anymore, is it?”

  Cadrith’s bony fingers clenched the armrests with a death grip. “Not everything is how it appears.”

  “Are you referring to yourself or what you said you’re bringing about?” Cadrith was less than thrilled with the hard edge to the demon’s words. Taking hold of his staff, he jumped up from his throne, calling forth a white burst of light from the skull. Delighting in the demon’s small retreat, Cadrith made his way to the window, dimming the skull’s brilliant gleam in the process. No need to alert the whole benighted countryside to his presence. One unwanted visitor was enough to contend with.

  “Valan should work out well, but I have to make sure everything is in place before I act. It isn’t just him we’re dealing with. There’s also a tribe of hobgoblins and the Transducer, among other things.”

  “The mighty Cadrith Elanis, afraid of a tribe of hobgoblins?” Sargis mocked. “From what you’ve shared of them they seem little more than petty annoyances. At least for someone as great and powerful as the last wizard king of Tralodren.”

  Cadrith kept his focus out the window. “And with all your boasting these past five years, you still haven’t gained more than a handful of attendants, and even those are lackluster at best.”

  “I’d have more if it wasn’t for your help.”

  “Which you were glad to take at the time,” he said, peering over his shoulder. “Or do you want me to reverse the spell keeping you alive and let you pass into total oblivion instead? I’d be happy to do so.”

  Sargis hovered closer to the lich. “A world, Cadrith. You told me—”

  “I know what I said.” He turned round and faced the demon. “But you have to let me finish my work. I’ve almost reached the end.”

  “Perhaps the same can be said of my patience.” Sargis glared back. “My doubts have also started to increase. Maybe you need to be reminded that if you think you can deceive me—”

  “Your threats are more hollow than your frame.” Cadrith offered up a dismissive bony hand, careful to use just the right tone to dig his barb in as deep as he could without increasing the demon’s ire any further. He still needed Sargis to be cooperative . . . for a little longer. No use in raking all the coals up just yet—no matter how much he wanted to—but it was an old wound he enjoyed picking at from time to time.

  “And you’ve lost much of your bargaining power, haven’t you?” Sargis’ eyes flared a fiercer red than before. “I wonder if there’s more dust in you now than magic.” His eyes narrowed to bloody slits. “There’s an easy way to find out.”

  “Try me.”

  The silence that followed crushed anything before it as the two stared at each other for a long moment. At one point Cadrith thought the demon might actually call his bluff. Instead, he backed down.

&nbs
p; “I’ll summon you when I’m ready.” Cadrith returned to the window.

  “You’ve promised me much.”

  “And you’ll have it, and maybe more.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear of your progress.” Sargis retreated a few feet. “And it had better be soon. Don’t forget, you’ve only been able to get as far as you have by my protection. Protection I can withdraw anytime I wish.” The demon began fading from sight, melting into the air from which he’d appeared. So, a bluff for a bluff. If Cadrith still had lips, a small smile would have worked its way up the corners of his mouth.

  He waited a few moments, scanning the room and the shadows lurking in the corners—shadows that could be hiding more than cobwebs and cracks. Sargis had blended himself into the darkness once before. It was how he’d discovered Cadrith’s weakening hold over his magic. The demon had been annoying enough to deal with before, but upon learning of his present state, was ten times worse. He swore he’d never be so foolish again. If his only leverage was waning, he couldn’t waste a single moment. He dreaded to think of falling into the tender mercies of the locals—let alone Sargis—without any access to his magic. No, that was something he swore he’d keep himself from at all costs.

  But Sargis breathing down his neck was one matter. Valan’s growing desire to master the Transducer was another. There was something in Valan’s drive that didn’t sit right. Something that made Cadrith second-guess if he was the right one to make his key. While no stranger to such dedication, Cadrith still felt something was a bit off with Valan’s particular brand of fervor. He just couldn’t put a finger on what it was just yet.

  Even so, he’d take what time he could afford, seek other possible solutions, and go over the matter from yet another angle, searching for any flaws. He had to be right. He couldn’t take too many bold risks. He was working with rationed strength and calculated effort. Even so, there was still a margin he left for any surprises—Sargis chief among them. Returning to his throne, he put aside his staff and the light it provided. Sifting through all he’d learned from the scrying skull, he considered the last of his options, weaving the end of his plot into its final form.