A Wizard's Tears

by Gilbert, Craig

  The carriage rolled round a bend in the road, and instantly all spotted the fierce glow of lights ahead.

  “Malana!” Relb exploded, leaping from his seat to get a better view.

  Arriving to the great city at night was no less impressive than if they had arrived with the sun shining. Keldoran’s initial impression was of size: the city was huge. He strained to see the lights outside, which stretched upwards before their puny carriage, almost like miniature suns themselves. They were heading towards one of the four walls that marked the boundary of the city. The wall stretched at least hundred feet high, by Keldoran’s estimates, and even in the glow of night, he could see it was made of pure white, polished stone. Embedded atop the wall were the lights they had seen, circular round jewels that had been polished and refracted to glint off the moonshine; a rich, emerald green glow that gave hope to their hearts.

  The road led right to the main gate. Nestled in two small outposts were guards – men employed by the mages to question anyone approaching the city. No-one came here unannounced or without the mages’ knowledge. They were dressed in polished armour, and each carried a long spear. Seeing the mage approach and recognising him, the guards bowed before him. Turning, two of them began pulling on a huge lever. A rumble came from the main metal portcullis in front of them, which rose slowly from the guards’ efforts.

  “It’s like a castle!” said Relb in excitement, to nobody in particular.

  The mage nodded to the guards in thanks, and urged his mount forward. The carriage trundled through and into the city. Sights, sounds and smells assaulted their senses.

  Keldoran’s mouth fell open in awe at the spectacle before him. They had entered a courtyard that stretched as far as he could see. Lining the cobbled paving of the courtyard were tall, marbled buildings, the gold inlaid into them glimmering softly in the moonlight and from various lanterns nestled in alcoves. Built into the courtyard at regular intervals were stone pillars, towering around twenty feet high or so, with bright yellow orbs at their apex – magickal light which guided them across the cobbles. Interspersed among these pillars were trees, huge oaks that shone with red leaves in the fiery glow of the orbs; fountains could also be seen bubbling forth rockets of water, announcing their arrival to the city.

  People mingled in the courtyard, some praying before the trees, others selling food and oils from various stalls scattered about. Keldoran could hear wind chimes and smell incense. The smell and sounds reminded him of his mother, who had often burned incense and decorated their home with chimes and wood pipes. Yet the hubbub and noise of the people were sounds he had never experienced; the tumult of many people, the business of the city.

  The mage rode through and beyond the main courtyard, and turned down a wide and opulent street. Shops adorned the sides: jewellers, bakers, arts and crafts, but Keldoran only briefly glimpsed at these. His gaze was riveted on the structure at the end of the long street, gargantuan amongst the other buildings and shops.

  “The guild of the high mages,” said Corg, naming the structure.

  As they came closer, Keldoran could make out five tall, connected towers issuing from the main width of the building. It almost looked like a huge, slender hand reaching for the sky.

  “Our new home,” said Relb. Of all the people in the carriage, the young man was definitely the most excited, thought Keldoran. Yvanna looked thoughtful, but had stayed quiet. Corg seemed to recognise where he was. Nagoth kept himself to himself, his eyes clouded with worry for his village. Only Relb had leapt out of his seat and gasped as he looked round the place. Even he, although awed and thrilled to have arrived, was tentative. The past day had worn its effects onto him. He needed answers, and these thoughts shrouded the majestic beauty of the city in clouds for the time being.

  Keldoran looked to the guild with hope, praying the questions concerning the land and his fever would be answered here.

  The mage pulled his mount to a stop before the main entrance to the guild. As if this was a signal, the main wooden doors to the front of the building swung open noiselessly. Three men emerged, walking down a marbled path towards them. Two of the men wore the grey robes identical to that of the mage they had travelled with, and were hooded. The third wore a bright, white robe, and had his hood cast aside, holding his head tall and proud, his handsome chiselled features thrust forward in authority.

  “Suralubus.” Their mage nodded to the white robed man in greeting.

  “Mandorl Kesar,” replied Suralubus, naming their travelling companion for the first time. “You have returned with our new recruits, I see, a day earlier than expected.”

  Mandorl nodded. “I have dark tidings that made me hasten back. Your immediate counsel is required.”

  “Come, then,” replied Suralubus. “Tabus will see to your mount, and Robyn will take your recruits to their quarters.” The wizard gestured to the other two mages, who nodded to Mandorl in greeting.

  Mandorl dismounted, giving the rein to Tabus. He opened the carriage door, and motioned for those inside to vacate. The mage ushered Corg, Yvanna and Relb towards the mage called Robyn.

  “This young man,” Mandorl pointed out Keldoran to Suralubus, “and the Norfel require your help, Suralubus. They should both come with us.”

  “Then follow me,” said Suralubus, acknowledging Keldoran and Nagoth with a nod, curiosity clearly showing on his handsome features.

  Keldoran smiled weakly in farewell to the others. Corg beamed at him. “We’ll see you after,” he said. Keldoran was glad for the juggler’s support. He opened his mouth to reply but the mage Robyn took away their attention, welcoming them to the guild and leading them away down the marbled path towards the main entrance.

  Sighing, Keldoran turned and followed the white robed wizard, who was now striding down a side path towards the rear of the large building. The Norfel, agitated and nervous, rushed to Suralubus’ side, as if the high mage could protect him from this strange city. Mandorl kept in step with Keldoran, making sure he was fit to walk.

  Keldoran felt fine. Odd, but his fever had almost vanished as quickly as it had begun. Another question for the high mage, it seemed.

  All questions were momentarily forgotten as they turned the corner to march down the side street by the guild. Keldoran stared upward at the incredible architecture of the building. He spotted large, gold gargoyles hanging from the building, their eyes shimmering in the soft lights of the city. Huge, arched windows towered above him, the glass seeming to shine with a speckled gold all of their own.

  The young farmer’s son gaped in wonder at the majesty and workmanship he saw. He remembered his own words to Corg earlier, asking about the beauty of the city. He could only agree with the juggler’s response. Truly, Malana was one of the wonders of Elrohen.

  Suralubus led them to some marbled steps that wound there way up the side of the guild, heading towards one of the tall spires.

  “A bit of a climb, I’m afraid,” he murmured, almost apologetically. Keldoran was surprised at the demeanour of the high mage – certainly not the arrogant, aloof mages that his father spoke of.

  Nagoth appeared irritated. “Can’t you teleport us up to your tower?” he said tersely to Suralubus. “You are high mage, are you not?”

  Suralubus smiled at the Norfel. “We only use our magicks when absolutely necessary. Besides, the climb is good exercise. Rest easy, Norfel, I can see the urgency in your eyes. The climb will only take a few moments, I assure you, then we can sit and talk.”

  Nagoth frowned, but kept quiet. He needed the mage’s co-operation.

  Suralubus spoke true. Although the steps seemed to go on forever, it was only a matter of minutes before they all stood at the polished gold door of the tower. The high mage simply touched the closed door with his palm, and it swung inward. They followed Suralubus into the tower. They found themselves in a passageway that carried on around the tower’s walls in a circular pattern. Immediately opposite them was another door. The mage opened this door.
“This leads to my personal chamber,” he announced. “We will not be disturbed or overheard.”

  Suralubus’ chamber was surprisingly small, devoid of any opulence. A simple wooden table stood in the centre of the oval shaped room, laden with books and glass potions of some kind. Shelves adorned the walls, covered with dusty scrolls and documents. The high mage gestured to the side, where a fire had been lit, its flames dancing over wooden logs merrily in its alcove. Before the fire, covering over the stone floor, a soft, blue rug lay. He nodded to it. “Please sit and warm yourselves.”

  As his guests sat, the wizard wandered over to a side room. He came back with a tray laden with bread, cheese, fruit and what looked like red wine in a decanter. “Eat, please, and drink. You have all been on the road for a good while.”

  Keldoran accepted the meal gratefully, suddenly ravenous. The liquid turned out to be berry juice; it quenched his thirst with amazing potency.

  Suralubus came and sat with them, cross-legged. “Now, Norfel, please tell me your name and why you have come to see me.”

  Nagoth told the high mage all about the mysterious sorcerer, the death of his people, and the worry he had on his village’s safety. Mandorl then explained what the Norfel had witnessed: the sorcerer affecting and charring the land he trod upon. He then told of Keldoran’s fever and pain, in response to the tremors in the land – making him a naturally born mage. As Keldoran listened in on the story, his own mind had trouble believing it all. It just seemed so ridiculous! Yet his own heart knew it to be true, and as he looked at Suralubus’ reaction, one of serious contemplation, all doubts banished from his mind. He was a mage!

  “Thank you for seeking out the counsel of Malana’s mages,” said Suralubus to the Norfel. “I know it isn’t easy for one of your race to journey into the cities of men.”

  Nagoth nodded. “We are despised and feared by most.”

  “Fortunately, not all men bear this ignorance,” smiled the wizard. “I will help you, Nagoth. First, let me tell you my plans, as I already suspected much that your words have provided substance.”

  He told them of the tremors he had sensed from the great stone in the gardens of Malana.

  “I am preparing for a ritual tonight at the stone circle,” he explained. “This will cast a spell delving into the heart of the land. We will be able to trace the land’s tremors back to their source, which we suspect is this sorcerer. Once we determine the sorcerer’s whereabouts, we will discern the fate of your village, Nagoth.”

  The Norfel grunted his approval.

  Suralubus looked at Keldoran then. His gaze held much knowledge and understanding, and to Keldoran, the mage’s power shone through him like a beacon of hope. “A mage of the land,” breathed Suralubus in awe. “None has appeared for over a century. Not since the Ice Lords left the lands of men for the snowy plains of the north. You are truly a hope for this world.”

  “A hope?” mumbled Keldoran, not understanding. “Indeed!” Suralubus was trembling with suppressed excitement, the first real emotion from the mage Keldoran had seen. “Your coming has been foretold. One of natural magicks will rise to unite the lands of Elrohen into a new age of peace and prosperity.”

  Keldoran just sat there, stunned, mouth open, unable to answer.

  Suralubus explained further. “Around a century ago, there was a war in Elrohen. The Slardinian race, coming from the lands of Tegul to the south, invaded Emorthos in an attempt to rule and conquer. Many died. One of the worst battles was at Twerne, one of the major sea ports on the south coast. The town, then, was populated heavily with Bu’kep. The Slardinians slaughtered most of them. A few retreated, entering one of the Norfel forests to seek shelter, several miles to the north.”

  Nagoth nodded, remembering the history. “Yes. That is why the Bu’kep hates our race. The Norfel elders at the time refused the Bu’kep sanctuary to their sacred forest, and, with nowhere to shelter, the Slardinians killed every last one of them.”

  Keldoran was shocked. He had no knowledge of Elrohen’s past.

  Suralubus continued. “The Slardinians were a fierce, fighting army. None stood in their path. They controlled much of Emorthos. Pockets of resistance came from the other races, the Norfel, the Bu’kep, humans and mages, but none could change the tide of battle and force the Slardinians into retreat. None that is, save for the Ice Lords.”

  “Ice Lords?” Keldoran had never heard of them. “Tall, blue skinned humanoids from Isoch, the icy wasteland across the oceans to the north. A mere handful of Ice Lords had travelled to Emorthos peacefully, aiding the mages in their magicks. At the time, they were revered. They possessed incredible powers, but based on natural sources. They were born to their powers, unlike the mages.”

  “Until now,” stated Mandorl, his eyes on Keldoran thoughtfully. Keldoran jumped at the sound of the mage’s voice – he had forgotten the mage was there, having said so little.

  Suralubus smiled. “Keldoran, you are not the first natural born mage, but you are the first in over a century…” his voice drifted, his mind elsewhere, pondering. After a moment he continued his story. “As I was saying, the Ice Lords used their powerful magicks to stop the Slardinian army: thousands of armoured Slardinian warriors, fierce in blood rage and lust, thwarted by a small group of Ice Lords, five or six if my memory is intact.” “H-how?” exclaimed Keldoran. “How did they beat so many?”

  Suralubus shrugged. “The history texts are incomplete at that point. All I can tell you is they used powers nobody had ever seen, and nobody has ever seen since. After defeating the Slardinians, the Ice Lords built the Wall of Tegul, an amazing structure seemingly made of solid ice, yet the burning sun of Tegul cannot melt it. They effectively kept the Slardinians chained to their own land, lest they decided to try and conquer again. Then the Ice Lords left, heading north, back to Isoch, or so we assumed. None have been seen again. The last one to leave, the leader, claimed there would be need of natural magicks again, once a new century dawned. One of natural magicks will rise to unite the lands of Elrohen into a new age of peace and prosperity. Those were his last words.”

  Keldoran sat, bewildered, the story sinking into his mind like a boulder thrown into a calm lake.

  Suralubus noticed the young man’s chagrin. “Be at ease, Keldoran. We will talk further, you and I. There is certainly no cause for alarm. I will explain more about land magicks and what you will find out about yourself. You have a very rare and wondrous gift. For now, rest – you have had a traumatic few days.”

  Mandorl stood and touched Keldoran’s shoulder. He stood and allowed himself to be escorted away, his mind still coming to terms with the information he had been given.

  Suralubus looked at Nagoth, and smiled broadly. “Let us go to the stone circle and begin the ritual. I will alert some of my brethren to accompany us. We will find out the fate of your village.”

  Nagoth bowed, thanking the high mage. Soon, he would know what had become of Rannos. He prayed it was good news. For a moment longer, however, both he and the high mage watched as Keldoran was led away, staring at the young man with a burning curiosity. What did the future hold for the young man?

  Mandorl escorted Keldoran back along the passageway, and then into a labyrinth of tunnels and steps. “Sir,” said Keldoran, “Where are we headed?”

  “I am taking you back to your other travelling companions. Suralubus will summon you again, after he has dealt with the Norfel and this sorcerer.”

  “I have so much more to ask,” muttered Keldoran, more to himself, but Mandorl overheard.

  “Patience, young man,” said Mandorl, glancing down at him. “Suralubus senses no harm in you. Your fever has gone, and for a reason I am sure he knows. He would not have taken you from his sight had he detected any danger.”

  Keldoran nodded. “Do you know anything of land magicks?”

  “Only myths, and tales of the Ice Lords. They were the race with abilities to sense the land’s spirit. Suralubus knows the most.”

&
nbsp; Sighing, Keldoran walked on in silence. As Mandorl led him into a room where the others had been taken, he suddenly realised he had forgotten to ask about his dream.

  “Sir,” he asked Mandorl, “Do you know of someone or something called Vo’Loth?”

  The mage stopped mid-stride to turn and look at him quizzically. “Now, how would you know the name of the Ice Lord’s leader?”

  Gralto staggered out of the main door leading to The Dragon’s Rest, the tavern and main hub of life in the small village of Roth. His eyes bleary, he could sense the ground coming up to greet him but could not avert the inevitable. With a loud thud, he collapsed, his breath letting out a pained gurgle.

  Ah, the sweetness of Emorthos’ liquor! May Untaba be praised for the invention of it, he thought to himself. The ground seemed soft, warm. Glancing down, Gralto noticed the trickle of blood that dripped slowly from his head. With a groan, he hauled himself to his feet.

  His mind and eyes a blur, Gralto weaved to and fro on the main road of Roth, not sure exactly where he was headed, following the wisdom of his feet. They would take him to where he wanted to go. His head dripped blood. Gralto had a moment’s inspiration to stop and tend to his wound, but then his brain succumbed to the spicy beer he had guzzled down earlier.

  Again he tripped and tumbled to the ground. As he struggled to rise, his eyes caught the sight of a taloned, reptilian foot. Grunting, he lifted his head up, a giddy smile on his face. He was greeted with a loud hiss, and a forked tongue slithering between fanged teeth. Gralto opened his mouth to speak, but knew no more. A claw came out of nowhere and smashed into his skull.

  Lorkayn watched silently as his Slardinian pet hunched down over the drunkard, ripping his face and body until he lay dead, twitching on the ground. With a cry of bestial fury, the Slardinian bit into the man, feasting on the blood and flesh.

  A deep cracking sound underfoot alerted him from the reptilian’s meal. The ground beneath him shook violently. Lorkayn frowned, and took a step backwards, seeming as annoyed as if a fly had buzzed in front of his face.