by Markus Heitz
V
Enchanted Realm of Lios Nudin,
Girdlegard,
Late Spring, 6234th Solar Cycle
That evening the six magi assembled in the conference chamber to prepare for the ritual.
First they took away the chairs, leaving the malachite table at the center of the room. Then they traced a large white ring on the marble floor around it and filled the circle with colored chalk marks. The symbols and runes would serve to bind the magic energy conjured by their invocation and stop it from dispersing before it could be used. From there they would channel it into the malachite table.
It took hours to complete the preparations. Not a word was spoken, for the work demanded absolute concentration and an incorrectly drawn symbol would oblige them to begin the process all over again.
Lot-Ionan was the first to finish. Stepping back, he gazed at the malachite table, recalling its curious past. He had happened upon it fortuitously in a shop selling odds and ends. The dark green stone had intrigued him and on further investigation he discovered that the mine from which it was quarried was located on the fringes of a force field. His experiments had confirmed the stone’s special properties: Magic could be stored in the malachite and set free upon command. In the following cycles, Lot-Ionan’s discovery had saved Girdlegard several times over, for without the table to help them harness and channel energy, the magi would never have been able to hold back the Perished Land. Generations of wizards had turned the power of malachite to their advantage; now the council would draw on it again.
Turgur straightened up and looked at the circle in satisfaction. He shot a glance at Nudin. “He’s up to something,” he said in a low voice to Lot-Ionan. “Keep an eye on him.”
“On Nudin?” Lot-Ionan asked, astonished. “Whatever for?”
Just then Nudin rose to his feet and glanced in their direction. A look of suspicion crossed his swollen features when he saw the whispering men.
“I can’t explain now. I’ll tell you later,” Turgur promised. “You’ll second me, won’t you?”
“Second you?” The white-bearded magus had spent his life studying spells and conjurations and was baffled by Turgur’s hush-hush tone.
Before he could probe any further, Maira summoned them to their places. The moon and the stars were shining brightly as the six magi stepped into the circle. It was time for the ceremony to begin. The copper dome parted, sliding back to unite the wizards with the firmament above.
Closing their eyes, they held their arms horizontally and began the incantation that would conjure the energy.
Each spoke according to his or her nature: Maira singing, Andôkai hissing and spitting, and Sabora whispering, while Turgur enunciated his words with a pride befitting his character. Their voices combined in a complex chant beseeching and commanding the magic to come forth.
Only Nudin and Lot-Ionan spoke as one person, reciting their formulae ceremoniously, as if respectfully addressing a king.
Lot-Ionan had not forgotten Turgur’s strange whisperings. He stole a glance at Nudin through half-closed eyes and was relieved to see that there was nothing the least bit unusual about his behavior.
One by one the symbols surrounding Maira the Life-Preserver lit up, sheathing her in an iridescent column of light that reached high into the dark night sky. The maga of Oremaira was ready.
The glow surged around the circle, bathing each of the wizards in light. By now the citizens of Porista would be staring at the palace, transfixed by the extraordinary sight.
So intense was the flow of magic that the chamber crackled with energy, purple bolts of lightning scudding between the columns.
Maira laid her hands on the malachite table and the others followed suit. Lot-Ionan noticed that Turgur, eyes fixed on Nudin, seemed incredibly tense.
The energy coursed through the magi and flowed into the malachite, the dark green crystal pulsing with light. The six waited until the glow had intensified, then lifted their hands from the cool surface and stepped away.
“Go forth!” commanded Maira. “Go forth and strengthen the unseen girdle protecting our lands!” She recited the formula, and the magic in the malachite did her bidding, shooting from the center of the table in a dazzling blaze of white light.
As it streamed upward, Nudin seized his staff and thrust its tip into the flow. The onyx absorbed the light. A black bolt sped from the jewel, striking Nudin. As the energy discharged into his body, the wizard writhed and screamed in pain.
“The blackguard has betrayed us!” Turgur raised his arm, intending to dash the onyx from Nudin’s staff, but an invisible shield protected the jewel.
As the last of the magic flowed into the onyx, the malachite grew dull and the light of the circle was extinguished. The ceremony was over: The energy had been harnessed and released. Nudin staggered back in exhaustion and leaned against a marble column for support.
Lot-Ionan turned to Turgur for guidance. The fair-faced magus had obviously suspected that something was awry. “He betrayed us!” Turgur raged furiously. “Nudin betrayed us to the Perished Land. If only I’d seen it sooner.”
“Explain yourself, Nudin!” stormed Andôkai, striding purposefully toward him. She gripped him firmly by the shoulders and for a moment it seemed as though she might strike.
He beat her to it.
His fist raced toward her chin with such speed that she had no opportunity to defend herself. Andôkai the Tempestuous flew several paces through the air and slammed down on the malachite table. She lay motionless.
“You’d better tell us what you’ve done,” Lot-Ionan commanded sharply.
Nudin drew himself up and smoothed his dark robes. “Be quiet, you old fool,” he retorted, directing his onyx-tipped staff at Lot-Ionan’s chest.
The four magi reacted immediately, steeling themselves to deflect a magic strike. Whatever was ailing Nudin had clearly affected his brain. Madness was not uncommon among wizards.
“Tell us what you’ve done,” Sabora urged him. “This isn’t about power, is it, Nudin? Was this meeting a ploy to increase your own strength? If Turgur’s right, you’re more foolish than I thought.” She looked to the others for support. “Lay down your staff before it’s too late.”
“It’s too late already,” he informed her. “You made your choice. For hundreds of cycles you’ve been fighting it, when all you had to do was listen. Much of what it says is true.”
“‘It’?” Maira queried, horrified. “You don’t mean the Perished Land? Are you saying you talked to it?”
“I learned from it,” he corrected her. “I can’t protect Girdlegard without changing it first. It’s up to you whether you decide to help me.”
Lot-Ionan reached for his staff. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to consider. “Your actions today have turned five friends against you,” he said sadly. “Your thirst for knowledge and power has led you astray. You should never have listened to the voice of destruction.”
“You are wrong to call it that.” Even as Nudin began to speak, his left eye and his nostrils dribbled blood, leaving thin crimson streaks on his doughy face. He faltered.
“Can’t you see what it’s doing to you?” Maira said gently. “You still have the power to renounce it, Nudin.”
“N-no,” he stammered, agitated. “No, never! It knows more than all my books put together, more than all the magi and scholars combined.” His voice took on a hysterical edge. “It’s what I dreamed of. Don’t you see? There’s no choice.”
“Only because you agreed to be a part of it. And what did the Perished Land demand in return for this wonderful knowledge? All Girdlegard and its inhabitants!” Turgur laughed scornfully. “You strike a poor bargain, my friend.”
“None of us can help you,” Sabora whispered. She shook her silvery head. “Nudin, how could you?”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he protested, disappointed. “It wants to help us; it wants to protect us from harm.”
“Protect u
s?” Maira signaled to the others. “No, Nudin, there is nothing more harmful than the Perished Land. We must fight it.” She took a deep breath. “And we must fight you too.”
“You fools! Do you think you can hurt my friend?” Nudin dropped his voice to an unintelligible whisper and smote his staff against the floor. The marble cracked, a deep fracture ripping through the stone and channeling in the direction of the chalk circle. A heartbeat later it reached the table.
The malachite disintegrated like rock candy in hot tea, crumbling into a thousand pieces. Andôkai, whose motionless body was lying on the tabletop, landed heavily on the flagstones. Green shards rained around her, tinkling on the floor, but still she made no sound.
Lot-Ionan, the words of a counterspell frozen on his lips, gaped with the others in horror at the wreckage. The table, their precious focus object, had been destroyed.
He was still staring at the sparkling green fragments when a blue fireball whooshed overhead, on course for the treacherous magus. Before it could reach its target, Turgur’s fiery projectile was torn apart by a counterspell.
“For Girdlegard,” Maira shouted. “Stop the traitor!”
The sound of her voice startled Lot-Ionan into action. Pushing aside his fears for his realm and his disappointment at Nudin’s betrayal, he focused on the challenge ahead. He knew the others were depending on his support, but in all his 287 cycles he had never once used his powers to kill or harm.
They assailed the traitor with fireballs and lightning bolts, then joined forces for a combined attack.
Flames and projectiles bombarded Nudin’s shield and he disappeared amid the inferno. Sabora toppled the pillars on either side of him, bringing a section of ceiling crashing to the ground. Dust swirled around them, obscuring their view.
None of them dared to check on Andôkai; all energies were focused on Nudin.
“Let’s take a look.” Maira summoned a gust, propelling the dust through the open roof. As the clouds dispersed, they found themselves looking into thin air — Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty was gone, but there was nothing to suggest that he had been destroyed.
“He can’t have survived,” wheezed Turgur. “It’s impossible. He must have —” His eyes widened in horror as he looked at his hand. The skin was wrinkling, its surface filling with age spots that blackened and turned into sores. A hastily invoked countercharm did nothing to stop the rot. The festering infection spread along his arm, eating into his chest, then his legs.
Sabora rushed to his aid. Without flinching she laid a hand on the putrefying skin. This time her healing powers failed her.
With nothing to hold his flesh together, Turgur slid to the floor. He tried to speak, but his rotten tongue twitched helplessly in his mouth. The fair-faced magus had been robbed of his beauty; a moment later, he forfeited his life. A deathly canker had eaten him alive.
Lot-Ionan struggled to contain his growing dread. Nudin commanded powers the like of which had never been seen. The Perished Land had taught him terrifying secrets.
Stepping out from behind a pillar, the false magus appeared at Maira’s side. She shrank away.
“You had your chance,” he rasped, drawing a few paces closer and stopping by the fallen Andôkai. “I asked you to help me and you refused. Much good will it do you. I’ll show you what —”
At that moment, Andôkai, who had been lying seemingly dead on the floor, shot up and drew her sword. The blade sang through the air and pierced Nudin’s chest.
“Take that, you traitor!” she thundered, raking the sword upward. The metal tore through the left side of his rib cage and continued through his collarbone, hewing his shoulder. Nudin staggered and fell.
As he went down, he raised his staff and hurled it with all his might. The tip buried itself in Andôkai’s chest. She gave a low moan and toppled backward, fingers clutching at the malachite splinters that littered the floor. Then she was still.
“Andôkai!” In an instant, Sabora was at her side, laying hands on the wound.
The sight of the traitor lying in a pool of blood allowed Lot-Ionan and Maira to draw breath. They knelt alongside the injured Andôkai, but their magic could do nothing to help her.
“We’re not strong enough,” said Sabora, scrambling to her feet. “Our powers have been depleted by the ritual and the battle. Try to stop the bleeding while I go for help. A rested famulus with a knowledge of healing might save her yet.”
She took two paces toward the door and froze midstep. Her face took on a bluish tinge that spread rapidly through her body.
“Sabora?” Lot-Ionan reached out to touch her. A stab of cold rushed through his arm, freezing his fingertips to her skin. Sabora had turned to ice.
“Andôkai the Tempestuous lies still, Turgur the Fair-Faced has lost his looks, and Sabora the Softly-Spoken will forever keep her peace. What will become of Lot-Ionan the Forbearing, I wonder?” a voice rasped behind him.
Nudin? Lot-Ionan howled furiously, tugging his hand away from the maga’s frozen arm and skinning his fingertips. His sorrow at the fate of his beloved Sabora turned to violent rage. “You’ll pay for this, Nudin. You won’t cheat death again!” A terrible curse on his lips, he whirled round to face the traitor. Nudin’s staff was pointing straight at him. His robes were bloodied, but there was no sign of the grisly wound inflicted by Andôkai’s sword; a rip in his cloak was the only evidence of the blade’s gory passage.
Before Lot-Ionan could react, he was seized by an insidious paralysis. The heat seemed to vanish from his body, chilling him to the core, while his skin tightened so excruciatingly that tears rolled down his rigid cheeks. Only his eyes were free to move.
“Can’t you see it’s using you, Nudin?” Maira tried to rise from Andôkai’s side, but slipped on the fragments of malachite and swayed. Nudin saw his chance. On his command, the splinters rose up like an uneven carpet of thorns. He hurled a curse at her.
Maira deflected the black bolt, but staggered and fell among the shards. The jagged crystals cut through her robes, slashing her skin and inflicting grievous wounds.
“Nudin, I’m begging you —” she whispered urgently.
“No one has the right to ask anything of me!” He stood over her and brought the staff down heavily with both hands. Maira let out a tortured scream as the onyx smashed into her face. There was a flash of black lightning. “From now on, I listen to no one.”
Possessed of a crazed fury, he battered her head until the skull gave way with a sickening crack. Nothing was left of Maira’s once-dignified countenance.
Panting for breath, Nudin drew himself up, triumph flashing wildly in his eyes. He looked at the bodies strewn around him.
“You’ve got only yourselves to blame,” he shouted angrily, as if to justify his actions. “You wanted it to end this way, not me.” He ran a hand over his face and found sticky smears of blood. Disgusted, he wiped them away with his gown. “It was your choice,” he said more quietly, “not mine.”
Unable to do anything but weep, Lot-Ionan cried tears of despair. The magi had been betrayed and destroyed by one of their own, a man whom they had counted as their friend.
The traitor dropped his guard. Lowering himself onto a chair, he tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars.
“My name is Nôd’onn the Doublefold,” he told the glittering pinpricks of light. “Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty is no more. He departed with the council, never to return.” He gripped his staff. “I am two and yet one,” he murmured pensively, lumbering to his feet. Lot-Ionan followed him with his gaze as he strode toward the door.
“You too will die, my old, misguided friend,” the treacherous magus prophesied. “Your whole being will soon be fossilized; you’ll be nothing but stone.” He fixed him with bloodshot eyes, a look of untold weariness and disappointment on his face. “You should have sided with me and not that backstabbing Turgur. Still, for old times’ sake I won’t deny you a proper view.” His swollen fingers took hold of Lot-Ionan and he embraced him br
iefly, hauling him round to face Sabora. “Now you can watch her while you’re dying. It won’t be long before she follows. Farewell, Lot-Ionan. It’s time I got on with saving Girdlegard — single-handedly, since the rest of you won’t help.”
He stepped out of Lot-Ionan’s line of sight, and the doors slammed shut. Alone in the chamber and beside himself with grief, the magus of Ionandar surveyed his dead friends. The sight of Sabora, frozen and motionless, was enough to break his heart.
Will the gods stand by and watch the ruin of Girdlegard? Do something, I implore you! Rage, helplessness, hatred, and sorrow welled within him until despair took hold of his being and nothing could check his tears.
At length the curse relieved him of his torment. The salty rivulets petrified on his marble cheeks, forming a lasting memorial to his anguish, while his breathing faltered and his heart turned to stone. If death had not claimed the kindly magus before daybreak, the sight of Sabora melting in the merciless sunshine would surely have killed him.
When everything was still in the chamber, a colossal warrior forced himself through one of the windows, stepped over the bodies, and knelt beside Andôkai. The palace echoed with his bestial howls.
Enchanted Realm of Lios Nudin,
Girdlegard,
Early Summer, 6234th Solar Cycle
Tungdil was making swift progress. His boots devoured the miles, carrying him on a northwesterly course ever closer to Greenglade. The shortest route to his new destination took him through the enchanted realm of Lios Nudin, home to Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty.
It was unsettling to think that the distance separating him from the Perished Land was dwindling with every step. The southern frontier extended almost as far as Lios Nudin, although Greenglade was a good hundred miles clear of the danger. Nonetheless, if the girdle was to fall, Gorén would be obliged to move elsewhere.
On the far side of the Blacksaddle he came across a messenger post. Knowing that Lot-Ionan would be worried about his whereabouts, he composed another short letter in which he informed the magus of where he was going and what had come to pass. He paid for the courier with the last of his precious gold coins.