Return of the Wizard King

by Chad Corrie

  The spell for becoming a lich was one of the most extreme one could cast. It wasn’t a popular option, given the enormous risks and costs. It was also rare. No mage had attempted it since magic’s return to Tralodren. And Cadrissa knew of only a handful who’d dared it during the days of the wizard kings. In any case, successfully casting the spell required a great deal of skill, knowledge, and power. Some even said it walked the line between the divine and mortalkind.

  He released her once they’d reached the top of the hill. She rubbed her chilled arm as she surveyed the terrain, making a study of her own. She’d a clear view of the greenish-blue sea surrounding them. For miles nothing else could be seen, save the island and water.

  She knew there were islands on Tralodren but they were mostly in the west. Could she have been taken to one of them? If so, which one? If she could find some other clues, perhaps she could better place herself. There were a few trees nearby she could try climbing, but she doubted her captor would be so accommodating.

  A sudden gust of wind ripped the gray hood from the lich’s head, revealing a naked skull balancing on top of a spinal column. Between each of the vertebrae was nothing but air and a faint azure glow—a visible sign of the magic keeping all his bones in place.

  “Come here.” He pulled his hood back over his skull. She didn’t think it wise resisting and cautiously drew up beside him. He whispered something under his breath. It was a spell, but she wasn’t clear on what type. The grassy mound shook under their feet. And then the stone tower rose from the earth. It erupted with such vigor Cadrissa was violently thrown backward, rolling down the hill before encountering a rough stop. The lich, however, remained sure footed, despite his feeble-looking frame, studiously observing the structure’s ascent.

  Crafted of black marble, the few windows it had were all on the higher levels. And all of these were dark and empty. The ramparts were crowned in highly worked gems and gold. A ten-foot-wide golden door, carved with an impressive relief of two demons holding it shut, stood at the tower’s base. Even from where she’d fallen, she felt the strength of its magic radiating outward. Such magical might in one place was unheard of in the modern day.

  “Get up here,” the lich snarled before speaking another word of magic at the tower. The great demons released their grip and the doors opened. The storm clouds were almost upon them. She shivered as the wind increased and the temperature dropped. The storm would be fierce.

  She watched the lich enter the tower like some conquering king and scrambled behind him. Outside, the gap between the dark canopy and the blue sky narrowed. As soon as she entered, the doors slammed shut with all the comfort of a coffin lid. She was left in complete darkness with only the lich’s flickering sockets revealing just how close she was to her captor.

  A moment later light manifested across the tower’s interior, flooding the ancient furniture, plush rugs, and relics with a cold radiance. The walls were covered with tapestries older than she could even guess. Sculptures of figures and forms from various races and times dotted the interior. She was taken by the wonders, never expecting she’d find such things here.

  Yet even in the midst of these amazing sights, there lingered the scent of dust and decay, and of older, less savory things she couldn’t quite name but recognized on instinct. Below these odors was the sensation of entering the heart of some giant, living thing . . . And it was watching her with hungry eyes. And then the storm was upon them. The tower shook as if struck by a strong fist.

  “Come,” the lich said, moving for the column of black marble stairs dominating the center of the room. For a moment she considered the doors. With the lich working his way up the steps perhaps she could—

  “I won’t tell you twice.” He stopped, staring down at her. At least she assumed he was staring at her, given the angle of his skull. It was hard telling such things when there were no eyes to reference. Thunder clapped and the tower shook ominously.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “The only thing you have to fear here is me,” he said before resuming his steady climb.

  Cadrissa fell in line, following a few paces behind the lich. Together they wound their way up to the top of the tower. The illumination that had greeted them at the door followed their ascent, dimming shortly after they’d moved on from the tower’s lower levels. It was like walking in daylight and came without any torch or sconce. She’d heard of such spells, but, as she understood it, they always had to have an object upon which to be anchored for the light to shine. Here there appeared to be no anchor, save maybe the air itself.

  Another deafening roar shook the walls. She felt as though every one of her bones had been rattled. It was as if the storm rested directly overhead—as if singling them out for this particular abuse.

  “Inside.” He motioned to the new door he’d opened as light rose in the room. Following his lead, she found herself in a study filled with books, charts, and scrolls. If forced to guess, she thought they were possibly a millennium in age. At least it smelled as such, with the musty odor blending with the rest of the tower’s stale air. In the center sat an ancient tome, resting on the top of a silver podium that was crafted to resemble a hunched human skeleton supporting the weight of the book above it.

  Cadrissa stood transfixed at the massive accumulation of knowledge. She’d thought she’d amassed something with her efforts but this—this was breathtaking. She felt as if she’d died and gone to Elucia—the realm of Dradin himself. The tomes alone could grant her insight into things she hadn’t even begun fathoming—things she probably hadn’t even known existed—and that was just what was immediately visible. But as amazing as such a sight was, it told her nothing of why she was here.

  The lich hurried to the skeleton-supported tome as the tower again shivered with another clap of thunder. “It seems Endarien hasn’t learned his lesson.” Cadrissa watched him calmly turn one of the ancient tome’s strange golden pages, sending up a small spray of dust in the process.

  “En-Endarien?” She craned her head as if she could see through the stone ceiling into the raging storm beyond.

  “He’ll eventually give up. Just like last time.”

  “Last time?” Her wide eyes snapped back on the lich. He made no reply but simply continued reading. That wasn’t good enough. None of this was. She was barely treading water in this sea of questions. She needed answers. Something that would at least serve as an anchor for the swirling chaos of her thoughts.

  “Wh-who are you?”

  The lich raised his head. “Cadrith Elanis, the last wizard king of Tralodren.”

  Chad Corrie has enjoyed creating things for as far back as he can remember, but it wasn’t until he was twelve that he started writing. Since then he’s written comics, graphic novels, prose fiction of varying lengths, and an assortment of other odds and ends. His work has been published in other languages and produced in print, digital, and audio formats.

  He also makes podcasts.

  chadcorrie.com | @creatorchad

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