The Best of Men - an epic fantasy (Song of Ages Book 1)

by Wilf Jones

  Seama, partner to a strange alliance, was too far away to see the looks on their faces as the sorcerers realized their peril. He saw one of them leap from his horse to attempt the making of a pentacle. The man scraped at the ground with his sword but it was hopeless. Before he had half-completed the first passage, Bast had him on one claw. The other two tried shouting spells but in their panic they must have misspoken because nothing happened. Bast tore a limb from the man it had captured and the two unhurt sorcerers decided that was enough.

  ‘Go, Go! We release you!’ one of them cried. The other didn’t speak at all but made a gesture with his hand, and it was the gesture that worked.

  Seama could never be sure about the process behind what happened then but he was grateful for it. Not only did Bast depart as quickly as if it had fallen down a hole, but with claws still sunk into his flesh, the creature somehow managed to drag the maimed sorcerer along for the ride. Only the severed leg remained. Seama supposed that this first visit to Daemonia by man would be very short lived.

  Seama breathed a sigh of true relief. While the demon had stalked the battle there was no hope, but now the situation was much improved. Of the four sorcerers, two were finished but two remained. He went to meet them.

  There was no move to attack as Seama rode up the hill. Instead they wanted to parley. A fat man with a beard, but no moustache, made himself the spokesman, while his gaunt companion, an albino with bloodshot eyes, kept back and seemed hardly aware of the conversation.

  ‘Hail friend’, said the fat man.

  ‘I am no friend of yours. Why the talk? Do you need rest?’

  The man laughed. ‘Well said, well said. A man of wit, and asperity perhaps? Don’t be angry with us. We are of similar nature, are we not?’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Why yes, of course. We have the Power, and the Knowledge.’ He smiled a quivering-smile. His jowels were so heavy that it must have been an effort. ‘Should not brothers in art work together?’

  ‘What work?’

  ‘Now then, you’re interested I can tell. Well, my partner and I have a commission; a well paid commission, my friend. I tell you, it’s money for nothing.’

  ‘Demon calling.’

  ‘You have it plum, sir. Just so. And with the wages there are the extras: girls if you like them, as many as you like, as young as you like – or perhaps boys are your preference? What do you say? You would make a welcome addition to our party, so powerful, so bright and if I may say, handsome too.’

  Seama was at once disgusted and amazed. It was difficult to imagine why the fat man thought Seama would be impressed by such an offer but maybe it was worth his while playing along. The fat man continued.

  ‘Now, it seems to me, seeing as you have so cleverly rid us of that bully Semmento and boring old Kelsly too, that we find ourselves shorthanded. I dare say our employer would be more than happy to take on such a sturdy replacement. We can come to some arrangement perhaps?’

  ‘An arrangement? I am sometimes open to offers if the conditions are right. But I need to know more before agreeing to anything. For example: who would be paying the bill?’

  ‘Now then, don’t be silly. A little disappointing. Please do not take me for a fool. When you have proved yourself—’

  ‘Enough!’

  The red-eyed man was awake and his single word made the fat man’s flesh quiver.

  ‘But Chaldonie, dear fellow, this here is a friend, or he would be if you let him. He could be useful. Now Semmento is gone we lack—‘

  ‘No.’

  The fat man sighed rather theatrically. ‘Oh well. As you please. It seems, Sir, that you have missed your chance and we will have to part company. My friend Chaldonie is very clever and very determined and not at all to be argued with. I quite like him for that – sometimes.’

  Seama had heard enough too. ‘It isn’t going to be as simple as saying goodbye, fat man,’ he said, but his eyes were on the other. This Chaldonie was the one in command here.

  ‘Now sir, there is no need to be impolite. We shall not say goodbye just yet anyway. We still have work to do. But you will not interfere again?’

  ‘And what if I do?’

  ‘Then I expect Chaldonie will have something to say. Were I you, sir, I would not cross him a second time.’

  ‘‘Thanks for the warning, but I think I might test him.’ This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t they just get on with it?

  He backed off a little to encourage some response, and in the next second he was thrown and at risk of being trampled. His horse had finally gone mad and with good reason. It was flayed as it stood. Gone was the sweating coat, the mane, the tail all in an instant and what remained was a mass of dripping flesh and bone. Of course it was an illusion, but it was very deep. The horse didn’t merely see the weeping flesh, but suffered intense pain. Seama couldn’t easily cancel such a spell when inflicted on another. The horse screamed and screamed. Struggling to keep out of the way, Seama had no choice. Reaching out with both hands he grasped the air in front of him and broke the horse’s neck with a twist. He rolled to one side as it collapsed nearly on top of him.

  Chaldonie was not impressed at all by Seama’s evident power. He gestured at the earth where the wizard had fallen and issued a command. The mud and grass swarmed up around Seama’s body and buried him as he lay. The wizard was smothered.

  Again it was illusion, but such a fine one that Seama almost admired it. He wasn’t simply buried. His chest seemed incapable of movement because of the weight of the earth; there was soil in his nostrils. And the illusion reached deeper, slipping beneath Seama’s conscious thought, speaking it’s message of death to his organs, to the nerves and the arteries. If the nerves told his brain that his lungs could not inspire, then soon it would become true. Seama had to take command. He plunged into his deepest concentration cycle. He forced his body to react. It was a mighty struggle to overcome the inertia, but finally he broke through; finally even in the dark recesses of his nervous system ran the knowledge that he was free and clear. His lungs sucked in clean air.

  And just in time. The sorcerers were not averse to using metal where magic had failed. The fat man had dismounted and was swinging his sword inexpertly at the wizard’s neck. Seama rolled again, drawing his own sword in the one fluid movement, and then attacked. But this was no time for the niceties of swordsmanship: the sword raged fire and made a torch of his opponent. Blazing, the fat man dived headlong into a ditch and Seama left him to it.

  The battle had rejoined after the departure of Bast. Gumb’s men had the upper hand again and many was the villain that looked back desperately to where the sorcerers stood chatting while they were losing their lives. They had no time to curse their employers.

  Angren too looked often towards Seama. For him the fight was less furious and he found the time to wonder what on earth was going on. Seama and the sorcerers seemed to be talking. Talking! He waited impatiently for the fireworks, but when they came he didn’t like it at all. Seama was grounded and his horse looked likely to kick him to death. Angren was up and running. He had no idea what he could do to help, but his friend was in trouble and he wouldn’t desert him. As he ran he saw the maddened horse crumple and die. Seama lay on the ground as if stunned.

  ‘Look out,’ Angren screamed as the fat sorcerer raised his sword, but the wizard seemed to have matters in hand and Angren’s heart leapt as Seama’s power was revealed. Fireworks were not a match for Seama’s sword. The fat one burned and fell out of sight but the second sorcerer rode in at great advantage as Seama, now on his feet, stumbled over the fallen horse.

  Just then a commotion louder than before burst out afresh behind Angren. Turning he was amazed to see a whirlwind of action in the middle of the melee. A sound of raucous braying shouted from the centre of it. Braying? Braying! It was the Mule. The
Mule, spinning and kicking foe and occasionally friend alike. He was tempestuous in his rage, like a storm in the grass. Angren couldn’t believe it. How on Ea’… And then, glory be, trumpeting her approach with deep-throated neighing ran a bay charger. She looked thinner and her coat was filthy but there could be no doubt it was Bellus. Angren called out in amazement but nothing would distract her. She had seen that her master was in need, and hurtled through the crowd to save him.

  Seama’s need had lessened despite his disadvantage of being on foot. His blazing sword met the other’s icy blade in showers of sparks, and a second blow dented the sorcerer’s shield. Chaldonie drove his horse at Seama but the wizard stepped aside, and then leapt. Sorcerer and wizard fell jarringly to the ground. Seama was up first but the sorcerer blocked his opening cut. With the handguards locked together, he dragged Seama to his knees. Chaldonie wrenched away his sword, scrambled to his feet, and rushed at Seama, hacking with two-handed swipes.

  Angren couldn’t reach them quickly enough – the air was heavy with a bitter odour that made him gasp and slowed him down – but with hooves tearing through the claggy earth, Bellus charged past him and set herself for a collision. Chaldonie was fatally distracted by her neighing. His wide, red eyes understood her intent to run him down. They completely missed Seama’s thrust. The wizard’s fiery blade bit deep into the sorcerer’s chest and Chaldonie shook with the impact. His desperate hands clawed at the hilts but his black robe began to smoulder. He writhed as he collapsed. The sword burned inside him, his flesh hissed and sputtered, his blood boiled.

  Seama payed him no more attention. Abandoning his sword he ran to greet her.

  ‘Bellus, Bellus!’ he cried, dancing in his excitement and his grief and his joy. ‘Oh Greatheart!’ He threw his arms around her proud neck. ‘You’re alive, alive, alive! Oh, by all that’s good, you’re alive.’

  She butted her nose at his shoulder and whinnied gently. He kept his nose buried in the rough of her mane for more than a minute.

  Angren trudged up to them through the mud.

  ‘Well there’s a turn-up,’ he said. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I may be a great wizard, my friend, but this isn’t my doing. I could never have managed so great a magic as this.’

  ‘How did they get here then?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue and I don’t care, I’m just so glad they did.’

  ‘Glad?’ Angren raised his brows, a mocking expression on his face. ‘Quite happy, eh? You great soft fool.’

  Seama grinned. ‘I don’t have the words for how I feel, Angren. This is the best moment… the greatest… Oh you know well enough.’ He turned back to his beautiful Bellus and spoke to her in silence for a minute more. Angren, keen to find something to do, walked over to Chaldonie’s corpse and busied himself with extracting Seama’s sword. As he wiped it clean on Chaldonie’s robe the wizard appeared at his side and held out his hand for the blade.

  ‘Thank you Angren. You’re right, this is joyous. And incredible. I thought they were… well…”

  “Yes I know. But they escaped the slaughter. The gods know how.”

  “Well they might but I don’t. There isn’t time now, but when this battle’s over I’ll spare the strength to ask Bellus for their story. She’ll tell me.’ He looked down at the remains of the battle. ‘Mule’s doing some damage down there. I hope he’s kicking the right people. Come on, let’s go and make sure— Hush!’ He stopped speaking and put a finger to his lips.

  They heard a whimpering moan. It came from a ditch behind them.

  ‘The fat man!’ Seama rushed to find him. ‘This time he’ll tell me.’

  Malbur was in a pitiable state with almost all of his body charred and blistered from Seama’s angry fire. The ditch was full from the night’s storm and the water had quenched the vicious flames but it was red from his bleeding. Seama stepped into the ditch to get close and reached out to touch the fat man’s forehead as he writhed torturously in the water – from his throat came a horrible, fizzing gurgle. Bending to look closer Angren realized the man wasn’t only burned on the outside: there was a red flame beneath the flesh, a flame that devoured him one layer at a time. It made Angren feel queasy. He’d never seen Seama do anything like this before. The fat man’s pain must have been terrible. For his own part Angren spared him no pity: he was one of the bad men and the punishment seemed reasonable, but he wondered what Seama was thinking. The wizard stood motionless and silent and it suddenly occurred to Angren that some sort of communication was taking place.

  ‘Ask him about Trant, Seama, ask him! I’ve looked everywhere for the bastard.’

  ‘Quiet Angren! That can wait. Now, listen to me, fat man.’ Seama’s voice lowered to a murmer. ‘I asked you before, now I ask again. Tell me his name and I‘ll release you. It will be quick—’

  Seama froze. He had the answer. ‘I should have known!’ he spat out in fury, ‘What was I thinking?’ The look on Seama’s face was terrifying. It carried such anger. He looked down upon his enemy, his victim. ‘My promise.’ The wizard raised an empty hand. The fingers curled as though they held a staff and tightened into a fist. There was a sharp twist of the wrist, and the snapping noise told Angren all he needed to know.

  The wizard was silent for a moment, the snarling expression fixed, but after that pause he was all action. He launched himself out of the ditch and straightaway leapt onto Bellus’ saddleless back.

  ‘Angren! Follow me when this is finished. Bring Gumb with you.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  ‘But where to?’

  ‘Astoril, where else? Where else would he be! Uh Bib is in Astoril and I will have him!’

  Angren was astonished at the wizard’s temper.

  ‘Steady on Seama,’ he said, ‘You don’t do revenge: that’s my job.’

  ‘Not this time. Look Angren, I have to go. Will you make a fuss of the Mule for me? Tell him I had to leave – I think he’ll understand.’

  ‘Understand? More than I do. I don’t exactly speak Muleish.’

  ‘And follow after – Gumb with you. You must make him come. Now Bellus, now! Faster than the wind or I’ll lose him.’

  Bellus reared and turned and ran. The pair splattered down to the road through a marsh of puddles, and left Angren gaping.

  ‘I think,’ he said to the air around him, ‘that our wizard is in a bit of a hurry. Poor old Bellus.’

  And then, as he watched their incredible progress, he suddenly felt very peculiar. He became weak and found it hard to breath. ‘What the hell!’ It was as though he’d been working hard for days without rest. He was dizzy with fatigue and had to sit down. When he looked towards the last vestige of the fighting he was amazed to see men everywhere sinking to the ground exhausted. Several badly wounded men had been screaming in agony, but they became silent as their lives seeped away into the mud.

  ‘Seama’, Angren shouted as loud as he could, ‘Seama, don’t leave us. Help us.’

  But his shout was more like a whisper and Bellus galloped on unchecked.

  LOOSE ENDS

  Astoril 3057.8.6

  In the small sunbathed courtyard exotic fronds crowded the formal edges of a tiered pond; a cool green lawn, perfectly edged, softened the footfalls of a departing servant and a stone seated arbour set between two scented jasmines proved to be exactly the right place for cool wine and dainty cakes. How charming it all was: the breezy rustle of leaves, the verdant shade and sun-dappled green.

  Tarangananda uh-Bib heaved a fat and contented sigh. What a shame, he thought, that the King was not well enough to brave the elements. This was, after all, his favourite place in all the palace. He had told uh-Bib all about it: his favourite seat, his favourite vista. Now he must lie in bed and dream only of past pleasure. Such a shame.
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br />   Uh-Bib decided he must remember to compliment King Sirl on the depth and quality of his cellar: this white wine of southern Apia was exquisite, so light, so fresh. The King, sadly, had been persuaded by his doctor to abstain from alcoholic dalliance. Uh-Bib allowed himself an evil giggle. He was astounded that such a wise old man as Sirl could be taken in by all of this medical hokum. At first uh-Bib had used hypnotism but now all he needed to keep the King under control were his ‘restoratives’. Sirl II may not have been ill before uh-Bib had arrived, but he was certainly ill now.

  What a delightful situation it all was!

  It had taken uh-Bib less than six months to bring enlightened Gothery to the brink of disaster. He was proud of his achievement. The King was sickening towards death; power had been transferred to his doctor (ha, ha!) in all but name; a simple spell kept the chief ministers docile, and out in the country paid agents sabotaged manufactories, spread discontent in the work places and generally increased confusion among the authorities.

  Semmento and Chaldonie were his key men of course. They had done a marvellous job on the borders: the Aegardeans were screaming for war. It amused Tarangananda uh-Bib to speculate upon which of the two powers would invade this tiny country first. He had a small wager running with Semmento on the outcome. What a pity the others were too po-faced to appreciate the joys of gaming: the Necromancer seemed to think that gambling was beneath him.

  That outcome would depend on Mador, of course, as Athoff had been given precise instructions on what to do and when, but uh-Bib expected the result within days rather than weeks now that Mador was under pressure at home. At the moment Mador was following the path Uh Bib had laid out for him but it would be foolish to think the King of Pars dim-witted and there was always the chance he might do something unpredictable. Unlikely though. No, all in all, the plans were proceeding nicely.