He would need several this night, one to get him in, and one to conjure Larrea’s spirit, the latter being the more difficult. Alerion stood next to a large cherry tree at the base of the stone wall. He looked around and saw no one. It was late, very late, and the only people he might see this time of night would either be the house guard, or common city thieves, neither of which he relished meeting just now.
He drew a feather from one of his pouches, holding it in the palm of his hand just before his face, and whispered several words of power. He then dropped the feather, which fell to the ground like a rock. As the feather fell, his body simultaneously rose from the ground, light as the feather. Using his mind to control his body, he moved up and over the wall, landing softly on the other side. Then he spoke another word of power that cancelled the spell.
The night was black as pitch, and dark clouds had moved in from the sea, shrouding the ambient light of the moon and stars. He would need some light, so he casually whispered a simple word. The tip of his staff slowly began to glow, until, after a few seconds, a bluish-white light shone brightly, penetrating the oppressive darkness.
He knew not where the ambassador and his family had been buried, but he guessed it would be toward the mausoleum, and so he walked briskly toward the center of the cemetery where he guessed the structure would be located.
It didn’t take him long to find it. The mausoleum was a large square building made of heavy stone, and each corner was supported by a giant column of white rock. It was expertly built and the walls were graced with numerous fine carvings representing many figures which Alerion recognized as guardians of the dead. Verdant vines had made the building their home, covering the pillars and walls with a lovely mesh of green that was beginning to show the buds of a fragrant white flower.
Alerion walked up to the only entrance, a square opening with steps leading down to where the many coffins would be lined up along the interior walls. Only the important people in Mynos would be buried here, so it would be the most likely spot where Alerion would find the ambassador’s family. At least that is what he hoped.
Without pausing, he walked confidently down the steps, his bright staff pushing back the thick darkness. At the bottom of the stairs were two branches that led to long hallways lined with coffins that had been stacked onto the many stone shelves. The air was thick with the mustiness of age and mildew, yet not overly unpleasant as one might expect from a room filled with rotting corpses.
Alerion took his time moving from one coffin to another, his staff held before him, his eyes scanning the writing etched into each stone sarcophagus. It took some time for Alerion to examine the many coffins lining the walls. Dust and cobwebs covered everything, and Alerion had to frequently wipe away the dust and grime to read the writing.
He found nothing down the first hallway so he made his way to the second and began his search anew. Finally his persistence paid off. He found the ambassador’s sarcophagus, flanked by that of his wife’s, but Alerion cursed under his breath when he realized that there was no coffin marked with Larrea’s name.
“What am I missing?” he whispered to himself, standing back from the coffins. He thought for a moment. Then it came to him. She may have married, and if so, would be lying near her husband and their children, if they had any. So he continued his search looking carefully at each dusty coffin. He only had to move a few paces down the hallway before he came across a coffin that bore the name, Larrea Penurrien. It might not be her, but more likely than not it was; at any rate he had to try.
The spell to conjure a spirit was much different than the one needed to conjure a great demon. Most spirits cannot cause harm, nor do they desire to, so a symbolic prison does not need to be drawn. In order to perform the spell, one needed something from the person, something like hair or a fragment of bone.
The large stone sarcophagus was too heavy for Alerion to lift. But he was a powerful wizard and he rarely relied on the strength of his physical body. He leaned his staff against the wall so the light bathed the area, then he calmed his breathing and closed his eyes in concentration. The spell was not difficult, but it did require some mental concentration. So once his breathing had slowed he focused on the heavy stone lid, and, picturing it in his mind, he whispered the words to the spell. He then felt the air around him shudder with power as he drew energy from the earth.
The elves called this form of magic Telsirium, a special form of magic where the wizard doesn’t just draw magic directly from the Ru’Ach, but from the energy of all the things around him. The energy could be more quickly accessed this way, and extremely powerful in short bursts. But it had its drawbacks. If you took too much energy it might kill the surrounding plants and animals. Also, the amount of energy that you drew upon was limited, in comparison to when energy was taken directly from the Ru’Ach, the river of energy that made up the universe. Energy from the Ru’Ach was infinite, and the amount that could be taken was directly correlated to how much energy the wizard could physically and mentally handle. There had been more than one wizard who had burned himself to ash trying to channel too much energy from the Ru’Ach.
Alerion opened his eyes, using his hands to manipulate the energy around him, pantomiming moving the sarcophagus so that, without touching it, the lid slowly slid to the side, exposing a sliver of blackness which gradually enlarged as the lid continued to move. Alerion hoped that no one was around to hear the grating sound of stone on stone.
The gap in the coffin was now large enough, so Alerion stopped the movement of the lid. As he approached the coffin he felt a wave of thick moist air wash over him, carrying with it the odor of rotting leaves. But it could have been worse Alerion thought, bringing the light from the staff closer to the opening.
Inside he could clearly see a dusty skeleton covered in a rotting piece of silk that at some point was probably a beautiful gown. Pieces of dried skin and flesh clung to her bones like dried, flakey paper. The sparkle of jewelry that lay on her neck and wrists still managed to glitter through the musty dust of her resting place. He reached in, gently withdrawing a small piece of hair still clinging to her skull. The hair was brittle, breaking easily, but it mattered not, all he needed was a small amount, and the few strands of hair would be enough.
Alerion moved away from the coffin, leaning the staff against the wall again. Then he reached into a pouch at his side and took out a small candle. It was a conjuring candle, so difficult to create that only an expert alchemist could do so. Alerion was such, for his talents leaned in that direction.
He set the candle down on the ground, lighting it with a quick word. Then he sat on his knees before the candle and concentrated on the spell. This spell was not as difficult as the spell needed to conjure a demon, as he had done recently with Ixtofin, the pit fiend that he had called from the fiery lower planes. He calmed his heart and breathing and recalled the words of the spell. They appeared in his mind as they always did. Alerion’s constant studying and preparation enabled him to bring forth the words to his spells quickly, but once the spells were cast, he would have to go back to his book and relearn them. It was like the words themselves disappeared from his mind when the magic was released. That is why a wizard’s spell book was so valuable; it was the key to all their magic.
Alerion opened his eyes, and began to recite the spell. The words flowed from his mouth smoothly and after a few moments he neared the final word, the word that released the magic of the spell. As he spoke that word, he dropped the lone hair on the open flame of the candle.
Instantly the flame flared with a white light and from the candle came a shimmering mist. The room instantly grew cold and Alerion could see his breath in the cold night air. The temperature dropped significantly, as it always did when conjuring spirits. Slowly the mist took shape and floating in the air before him was the translucent form of a woman wearing a blue gown of silk. She was still beautiful for one who looked to have lived fifty winters, probably the age at which she had died. Though her f
orm was somewhat blurred, it was still obvious to Alerion that she had once been a stunning women.
“Larrea? Larrea Milfis?” Alerion asked.
The spirit looked around and then focused on Alerion, as if she were trying to figure out her surroundings before looking at the stranger in front of her.
“Long ago, I can barely remember,” the spirit women whispered softly.
“But you were Ambassador Milfis’s daughter, Larrea?” Alerion asked again.
“Yes, I was, and am still. Why am I here? Where have I been?” I am confused,” she said softly. She resembled a lost child looking around at her strange surroundings.
“You have been in the Ru’Ach. I have called your energy back, for I need your help,” Alerion said gently.
“Please, will you send me back? It feels wrong to be here,” she said, glancing furtively at her surroundings as if something might jump from the shadows and attack her.
“I will, you have my word. I will send you back to the Ru’Ach where you may rest once again. I need to ask you a question, one that is important to the survival of the living.”
“Who are you?” Larrea asked.
“I am Alerion, court wizard to King Baylin Gavinsteal of Finarth.”
Her form fluttered for a moment as if Alerion’s words had hit a nerve. He hoped that they had, that they would bring back some old memories.
“Finarth, I remember, so long ago. My first love,” Larrea’s voice drifted off as she thought back to long dead memories.
“Did you conceive a child with the young Ullis Gavinsteal?” Alerion asked directly.
The spirit looked back at Alerion, staring at him for a moment before speaking. “Yes, I loved him. But we were young, it was not meant to be.”
Alerion’s heart quickened at this news. “What happened to the baby?” he gently prodded.
The tone in the spirit’s voice seemed to change, becoming sad and distant. “I had to give her up. I was not allowed to keep her. We were too young and the child was conceived out of wedlock.”
“Did the young prince know of the child?”
“No,” the spirit said simply.
“Where did the child go?”
“My daughter,” the spirit continued softly, her voice now filled with sorrow, “was sent to Tarsis to be raised by my cousin who was married to the youngest Tarsinian prince.”
“Do you know what happened to your daughter?”
“Her name was Tamralyn,” she whispered, her voice growing more distant.
“Do you know what happened to her?” Alerion asked again.
“She married just before I died.”
“Who did she marry?” Alerion asked.
“A commoner, I can’t remember his name, it was so long ago,” her voice trailed off. “Can you send me back now?”
“Yes, and thank you, Larrea,” Alerion added, reciting the words of power that ended the spell. Her form fluttered as he blew out the flame of the candle, sending her energy back to the Ru’Ach where it would join with the energy of all things.
Alerion stood up, moving to Larrea’s coffin again. He was just about to start the spell to close the lid when he caught a glimpse of movement and a flash of light in his peripheral vision.
He turned to face three men as they emerged from the base of the stairs. They each held flaming torches and Alerion could see several weapons glitter in the flame’s light.
The man in the lead wore a dark cloak and a hood that covered his face. He was holding a pitted long sword in his right hand. Their clothing was ragged and they had the overall appearance of thieves that were not very good at their profession. One of the other thieves carried a small hand axe while the other carried a long hunting knife. The one on the left was thick with more fat than muscle. The man on the right was young, very thin, and his eyes betrayed his youth as they darted about nervously.
Great, thieves, that is all I need thought Alerion, grabbing his staff and turning towards the trio.
“I told you I saw a light,” whispered the boy on the right. His thin face sprouted patches of newly grown hair, obviously too young to grow a decent beard.
“Yes you did, Kip, nice job,” the lead man said before addressing Alerion who was standing calmly before them. “Nice night for a walk, eh?”
“Indeed,” Alerion said calmly. “Now be on your way. I do not want trouble, nor do you.”
“I’ll tell you what we want. We want your valuables. And since you have that coffin open, we’ll take a look in there as well,” the leader said.
“Are you brave or stupid?” Alerion asked.
The man was somewhat taken aback by the question. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Well, you are threatening a court wizard to the King of Finarth. So you are either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?”
“Lots of people could make that staff light up like that, it does not mean you are a court wizard,” the man replied, as if to convince himself.
“True,” Alerion replied, “but could lots of people do this?” he asked, launching into a spell.
He dug deep for the Telsirium magic again. It was a great form of magic when you needed power quickly. Whispering a few words, he sucked in the energy around him. With a few flicks of his staff he shut the coffin lid and slammed the two thieves flanking the leader against the stone wall.
He used just enough energy to launch them into the wall without doing any serious damage. They hit hard, tumbling to the ground, dropping their weapons in the process.
The leader backed up slowly, his nervous eyes darting to his men and back to Alerion. Alerion pulled back the edges of his cloak revealing his tunic and the glittering symbol of Finarth, the fist in the sun.
“Now, do not make me kill you. If you have any brains at all you will recognize the mark on my chest as the Finarthian royal insignia, and you will deduce that the amount of magic I just used is but a pittance of what I can call upon. So, if you wish to live out your meager lives as leeches of society, stealing from your own people, then you best leave now. If not, I would like nothing better than to fry you to a crisp so that you may join the rest of the corpses around you. What say you?”
The trio needed no other prompting. The lead warrior turned and ran, while his two men grabbed their weapons and frantically regained their footing, following him out into the dark night.
Alerion smiled and followed the thieves. He had some answers, but he still needed more.
Nine
Cuthaine
Gullanin advanced toward two huge Gould-Irin Orcs. The beasts were standing before a large black tent, the entrance being an extended vestibule draped with more heavy black cloth. The wizard was in a foul mood and the orcs stepped aside quickly as he neared them. Speaking a quick word and motioning with his staff, the heavy fabric that draped the opening flew open with unseen force. He continued walking without breaking stride, the sharp end of his black cane biting into the thick red carpet that covered the expansive floor of the tent.
Gullanin did not relish this meeting. Things had not gone well for him and the Hounds of Gould. Everything had been progressing as planned. The hounds had the king of Tarsis in their deadly jaws, ready for the kill, when the cavaliers had arrived. The female warrior had been killed in the struggle before the hounds were dispatched by the other cavalier and the ogrillion.
An ogrillion? It made no sense. Why would an ogrillion show up and help defend the humans? Gullanin was frustrated, he had even tried to kill the king himself, but that blasted dwarf had got in the way at the last moment. Every time he was close to fulfilling his lord’s plans, something got in the way, and Malbeck would not be pleased.
Gullanin walked the ten paces of the vestibule, stopping at a large oak door. The structure was quite impressive, but what was more impressive was that the entire tent was torn down and rebuilt after each day of marching. Tarsis had been destroyed and now Malbeck’s army was moving south, heading for Cuthaine before advancing into
Finarthian lands. It would take many months to get to Finarth. Their progress was slow as the ground was still covered with patches of snow. But as they progressed, the days would get longer and warmer, and the snows would melt away into spring, making the long trek more bearable.
Gullanin was just about to tap the door with his staff when a commanding voice came from within. “Enter, Gullanin.” The door swung silently open.
The interior of the tent was dark, really dark, except for a reddish glow emanating from the center. Gullanin’s eyes were drawn to a strange orb floating in the middle of the room. It was shaped like an egg, but it was the size of an orc’s head and it glowed with an eerie red light. Tendrils of dancing orange and red light buzzed about the egg shaped sphere, casting flickering shadows about the interior of the large tent.
The tent was basically empty, except for a giant throne positioned in the middle. The throne was constructed of bones, but not just any bones, for they were huge and obviously those of a dragon. The back of the throne had two leathery wings fanning out in both directions, their black and withered skin clinging to their skeletal frames, and appearing as if they had sat in the hot desert sun for a month. The throne’s feet were also made from the bones of a dragon, the claws splayed out wide, easily supporting the massive structure. In fact, it looked like the skeletal dried up form of a dragon.
Malbeck was not sitting in the throne. He was standing before the glowing orb, gripping a young woman in one hand, and holding her up a full pace from the floor. She was dead, for her body hung lifeless from his powerful arm and blood ran from her severed throat down her body. Then Gullanin noticed that Malbeck had dripped her blood over the orb, which pulsed several times as it drew the blood into its translucent body.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 26