On they marched. They passed the Forests of the Giants and towards the gentle rolling hills that stretched towards home. Birds squawked as they drew near and rustled the leaves above.
Within sight was the balanced stone archway to Valdross. Flegmorr quickened his pace, anxious to bring home the good news. Noise of the village sounded -- the clanging of pots, the sounding of spells -- all the special sounds of one’s memories curled up into his ears as a greeting.
His coat flapped as he went through the archway. An invisible trigger announced an arrival and the village noise suddenly stopped, awaiting any who entered.
People began to step back, leaving a wide berth for Flegmorr to pass. He was unmoved by their gasps and frightened faces. He was sure it was only the residual effect left from Perthorn, some spell to turn his own against him. He would change all that. Just wait until they hear my news, he thought. His chuckle sent many of them scurrying inside their homes, which caused Flegmorr to laugh all that much louder. It was as if Winter had arrived and stole away the sun’s warmth.
Flegmorr’s boots stirred the dust along the well-worn path towards the third hill of the Vale of Valdross. He took a winding path which lead to his father’s home. He held the home in his sight, his eyes following the vines filled with five-petaled white and blue flowers permeating the air with a spicy scent. The small wooden doorway was situated under the arbor of the towering red mushrooms festooned with white dots. Still twenty strides away, a magical energy swept out in waves, a signature of great magic dwelling inside.
The doorway sprung open. The Grand Magician himself, Artimys, stepped out. He was adorned in a shimmering golden robe patterned with crescent moons and streaking stars; the robe only the highest ranked Magician could wear. It swept around the figure of his father.
Inside of the darkened soul of Flegmorr, a trapped boy enthusiastically jumped with excitement and longed to run into his father’s arms, seeking not the trappings of pride and approval, he sought out the exchange of love.
His father’s voice boomed. The trapped boy inside of Flegmorr retreated, backing into an almost forgotten speck of light -- the last vestige of Innocence which carried the infallible light of the True Self.
“Why have you returned, Flegmorr? You have brought shame against my house and against all that reside in the Vale of Valdross.”
Flegmorr stumbled back a step. His father’s words hit him full force like a sword. The child inside hammered his fists against a beating heart, desperately trying to escape and run to his father before it was too late. Flegmorr’s heart sped up, flooding his thoughts in chaos.
“Father, I have returned to restore honor. Honor stolen by the magician named Perthorn. He took from us our legacy, he, an outsider, stole the title that was rightly mine. I pursued the thief, Father. I reclaimed what was mine, to bring back honor to our name.”
“What have you done?” Artimys asked, his words tight in restraint and his face drained of color.
“Done?” Flegmorr spat the word out with a snarl. His voice thundered a return. “I’ll tell you and all the rest of your deceived people of Valdross exactly what I’ve done. I tracked that thief when he snuck away with the Uplanders. I followed them as they called on the Dragons for a quick escape. Did it stop me? No! My quest would not be thwarted. I vowed to follow him for an eternity, to get back what was mine. To return honor to my family and heritage. I risked everything. I have done what no other Magician could have done, and I have won. I won back the title, Father. I killed the imposter known as Perthorn.”
Gasps vibrated in the air. Massive stores of energy shot up from the ground, engulfing all but Flegmorr in its protection. So strong was the energy force, Flegmorr’s teeth rattled.
“You have killed another Magician falsely.” Artimys’s eyes flared, shooting daggers as he spoke. Each word escalated in volume. “Perthorn came to us and shared his knowledge. He worked with our own Magicians, he gave freely to any who sought help, he went through all the stages leading up to the testing for a Master Magician and did so with humility and grace. He was an honorable man, an asset to Valdross, an esteemed member of our Great Halls. Your great envy fueled by your thoughts of entitlement has brought shame to my house. Do you hear me? Shame!” His face splashed red. His voice trembled as he tried in vain to restrain his anger.
“You are a fool! Perthorn has cast a spell over this village, over all of you to believe such things. I am the honored one. I am the one who went on the quest to bring honor back to the Great Halls. I am the one who defeated the so-called Master Magician. That alone should show you the title is duly mine.”
Nebezin, a high-ranking Magician of the Council, questioned, “Did you Flegmorr, follow the Rules for Challenge? Who stood as the Recorder? Who holds the Book of Days? Bring your evidence forward immediately.”
The spell infused his words.
A wretched laugh churned through the breeze, waxing hearts cold in its wake. “Who would have joined me on such a dangerous quest? No, I had no Recorder present, you imbecile. I should have asked an Uplander to stand in, or maybe one of their sky beasts? They do not have any of our superior knowledge of the ways of Magic, or in the Rules for Challenge. I did what had to be done. I caught Perthorn unaware, riding on the back of a Dragon, mind you.” He shook his head in disgust, then his eyes gleamed with a remembered vision. “I shot them with my Lightning Magic, hitting them while in flight, watching them fall from the sky headed directly towards the jagged mountains. A death befitting the traitorous Perthorn and any person or beast that would help him. My only regret was in not being close enough to watch them become splayed onto the daggers of rocks or smeared across the ground below.”
A quick exchange of surprise, then hope, transferred between Artimys and Nebezin. Nebezin cautiously proceeded. He wove the words of Flegmorr into a tightly fitting noose and cast it. “So, you make these declarations without any proof. You had no Recorder. You followed no Rules and most surprising of all is you came here boasting of this self-directed quest and have no Book? Where is our Book of Days?”
A shockwave hit Flegmorr midsection. A might blow cast in the dark. Flegmorr’s eyes registered utter disbelief. The Book! How could I have forgotten the Book? His eyes reeled under the impact and his jaw hung wide. His mind let in more thoughts. I may have won the battle but without the Book, I have no evidence. What trickery is at play? His mind tore at him for his own folly. His shoulders sagged.
Artimys pulled the invisible noose tighter. “Return to us the Book of Days. Establish your claims or…” His eyes sparkled as they stared at the form in front of him. “If Perthorn yet lives, bring him back to be held prisoner against his wrong doing. We shall extract justice.”
A flying ember of hope took flight and landed upon Flegmorr’s heart. The noose cut at his throat and bound him securely. Artimys lips curled in a half-smile. The trap had been perfectly executed.
Flegmorr kicked at the ground, his anger rising from the pit of his soured belly. He sneered. “You shall have your proof. I will retrieve the Book and return it as my banner, my symbol of my right as the Master Magician. Worry not, you will not have to extract justice as I have already done so. There is no conceivable way Perthorn could have survived the justice I issued by my own hands.”
Nebezin worked quickly. “But if he did? If Perthorn did manage to survive, would you bring us honor by dragging his miserable countenance before us? Allowing us our retribution?”
Two dark soulless eyes glared at Nebezin. “It is impossible that he lives but on the scant possibility of such a notion, it would bring me unfathomable pleasure to give you your request. To watch him crumble and eat the dirt at our feet.”
“Do you vow this to us?” His father said, brow raised in anticipation.
“I VOW this to you and all here,” Flegmorr spat out with venom.
“Your selfsame vow is noted by all here. Any deviation will bring upon you the banishment from our world, from our legacy, and from my own
lineage. You understand your vow?”
Flegmorr smirked. “Of course. The vow will prove unnecessary as I will find the Book and the very proof of my words.”
Nebezin mused. “Surely when you find the Book you will also find the proof of Perthorn’s death. As such proof, bring us his robe. Tear it from his decaying bones if you must but bring us this relic to be displayed in our Great Halls forevermore!” His words were laced with a subtle Magic that mimicked Flegmorr’s hatred and pierced him with a multitude of well thrown daggers.
Flegmorr cast a sickly grin. “It will be so.” A gleam wormed out of his eyes. “Perhaps a shriveled heart or a ripped off skull would be a good addition?”
Nebezin played on. “Whatever delights your soul, as long as we have his robe, you may bring whatever else you desire. But the robe is a must. Each Magician’s robe is unique. All Magicians are identified by their robe, its designs and origins. To have his robe, the proof of his death would go unchallenged,” he added with a smile. “Not to mention, a point of ridicule for us to display.”
“You shall have what you have asked, and then some.” Flegmorr countered.
“Splendid!” Artimys said. “Flegmorr, leave at once to bring us back what we ask so we may make ready for a feast and a celebration upon your return. Remember, you have given us your vow. We are all bound by its words. You may not return to us without the Book of Days, without Perthorn if he yet lives or the robe from his dead body. If any of these things are not met as part of your vow, the vow is considered broken and the full enactment of banishment will occur.”
“Father, your pride in your son shall soar to the greatest heights. It is but a little challenge that I will meet with ease. Do not trouble your heart over your son’s vow. It shall remain intact.”
“Very well, s--son.” The word brought bile to his throat in the calling of this abomination in front of him ‘son’. “Be quick about your quest. Leave us now.”
Flegmorr beamed at his father and tipped his grime covered hat. His last remarks before turning to leave were these: “I will not return to you empty handed. I would die an atrocious death if I could not return your simple requests.”
His father beamed. Not at his son but at his solemn words. “May it be so!”
Flegmorr turned his back from his father, away from the Vale of Valdross for what Artimys hoped would be the last time.
As he walked away, Artimys whispered to Nebezin, “Is this the last of him?”
“If the Fates are by our side, I would say yes. If not, we shall prepare the trap for his return.”
Artimys nodded. “The Great Halls?”
“Yes, we will lead him down deep to the fortified walls of the Blessed Magic. A light so blinding it will pierce his dark soul and bind him forevermore within its hold. It will render him impotent as soon as we enter the chamber. His use of Magic, striped, the rest of us safe against any attack.”
Artimys nodded thoughtfully. He did not mourn for what was coming. He mourned what was his son, long ago. The vile creature walking away carried only the shadow of what was once his son. He and Nebezin watched until the figure became a speck on the horizon and then turned to make ready if he should return.
Chapter 13
Aflash in the sunlight splashed against the mountainside that once was the home to Molakei, Flower Bird, and Kaida before Urthe’s violent shaking collapsed the caves. Zelspar circled low and looked for any trace of Flegmorr but found none.
His wings tore at the wind, gaining altitude quickly. All had used their Magic of Invisibility before leaving their home under the protected dome of Magic. They could not take anything for granted this time around. The cost would be too devastating to be caught unprepared.
The sky was a pink-tinged blue with white tufts of clouds lazily drifting by. Zelspar scanned along the shimmering ground. He watched as the heat distorted his sight with the waving patterns rising upward.
As they flew, the sun displayed a bountiful feast for the eyes with the rapidly darkening tones of pink to deep red and the blue to the lush purples stretching out before them. Zelspar kept his eyes focused. They would need to find shelter soon and prepare to defend their stand.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. His muscles bunched underneath Perthorn and Kiel, making them acutely aware of some change. Zelspar’s neck elongated and grew ridged as he dove towards the movement that appeared to be circling in the distance. Dust rose from the ground at the rapid movement.
Perthorn’s eyes could not detect what Zelspar saw. His heart felt the sudden charge of adrenaline, preparing for a fight. He stiffened against the Dragon, his muscles tense as he squinted to pull in the sight.
In a scarce few heartbeats he felt Zelspar’s muscles relax under him, but his speed and destination did not alter. It took many long minutes before Perthorn and Kiel could make out the image that had alerted Zelspar. Below them, a short distance away, flashed the neon blue markings of the wolf gods known to them as Sigrunn and Tyrianau.
The selfsame gods whom had come to Kaida when she lived amongst the peoples to protect her and guide her towards her destiny. Now, they were protecting the peoples and Dragons against the unbalance of Magic.
The Laws of Balance demanded the upcoming battle. All of the Future for Urthe hung in the balance. If the Magician with his powers of Dark Magic won, all of Urthe would be oppressed, catering to Flegmorr’s every whim as their sole hope for survival.
Sigrunn and Tyrianau had helped by leading Flegmorr away from them and making him believe Perthorn was dead. That had bought them all the precious time to prepare, and, for Zelspar, the added benefit from seeking forgotten Magic. If he had only learned that, it would have given them an even playing field. As it stands, they were prepared to meet and dismember any formidable foe -- Flegmorr included.
Zelspar’s wings tilted, gliding them down to the wolves. He bent allowing Perthorn and Kiel to find the ground with their feet. They took the few strides to draw up next to the wolf gods.
“Sigrunn, Tyrianau, greetings my friends,” Zelspar said upon approach.
Sigrunn, with a shake of white fur, replied, “We have been waiting for you to come.”
Tyrianau came forward, regal in his black with white patches of fur and still swirling with the neon energy of light over the ancient symbols pulsing up from his hide. “Our trust is you made use of the time we gave you. Have you trained for the meeting with Flegmorr?”
Perthorn answered. “We have all trained, as have the Dragons and the peoples we left behind. Kiel and I have learned the Dragon Magic and increased the power of our own. We are on a journey to find him now.”
A howl passed between the wolves. Tyrianau snipped at the air as Sigrunn paced in front of him. After a moment, she turned her head to look at Zelspar and sat back on her haunches. “Zelspar.”
Tyrianau snipped again. Sigrunn growled from deep within, urging him to be silent.
“I have things to tell you, some of which Tyrianau is impatient for me to disclose.” Her eyes shifted to slice at the other wolf then returned her attention to Zelspar. “I am to understand you sought your Great Ancestor for help? Help in the clearing of the clutter in your memory of all Dragon Magic?”
His brows furrowed, eyeing the wolf gods. “Indeed. I felt a string of Magic, so far buried in my memories, I could not reach it. My Ancestor agreed to secure my journey back through time, back to where I could see and feel the Magic again and relearn what was forgotten.”
Tyrianau came forward, nipping at Sigrunn’s neck fur. She bared her teeth in warning. “I realized that Magic would not be enough. I interfered.”
Zelspar narrowed his yellow eyes and lowered his neck towards her, his eyes were separated from hers by only the lengths of their muzzles. “How did you interfere?” His words came out measured. Tendrils of smoke puffed out through his snout, his eyes never flickering away from Sigrunn’s. His belly fires boiled.
“I came to you. I brought you Secrets. I am the Holder
of Secrets, if you recall.”
“By all that is Dragon! You took me to that place, the place where I could not find any of my Ancestors, just one strange Dragon, a... a Cloud Dragon.” A thunderous roar shook the ground as he released a flame up into the air above the heads of the wolf gods.
His snout bared row after row of jagged teeth. His words slammed against Sigrunn’s perked up ears. “I nearly did not make my way back. The place where you sent me swallowed my mind then exploded into it with a vastness of Magic previously unknown. It was too much to assimilate, too grand a scale from an unknown world of Dragons.”
She hesitated.
“What more should I know,” he thundered.
“It was I who brought you to a place where I could release to you the Secrets. I appeared to you as a Dragon. You were never on a distant world, only a world I created in your mind. I felt sure…”
Zelspar and the Magicians Page 8