A Wizard's Tears

by Gilbert, Craig

  The ground before him erupted, bits of stone and soil flying into the air as something large pushed its way upwards. A piece of curved rock rose out of the hole to stand twice the size of him; a long, polished monolith: a standing stone. Its white marbled surface shone with slivers of gold; it glittered in the moonlight, a thing of ancient beauty. In its centre was a circular hole, covered with a thin white membrane of transparent rock.

  Lorkayn’s eyes narrowed. What sorcery was this? He approached the standing stone warily, gazing over it meticulously with his eyes, suspecting a trap. There appeared to be none. As the sorcerer leaned forward to inspect the stone further, an image coalesced into form beneath the white membrane in the stone’s centre; he knew immediately he was being watched.

  “I have found him!” uttered Suralubus, his voice strident and powerful in the still of the night.

  He stood in the middle of the stone circle, deep in the gardens of Malana, his arms aloft, holding a crystal that reflected the light of the three moons onto the large monolith before him. At the base of the other eight stones, arms aloft and chanting softly, stood his brethren, one to each stone.

  Nagoth stood behind Suralubus with the priestess, Vergail. He had never seen such a display of magick and he looked to the wizards in awe.

  Suralubus had started the spell once his brethren were in place, chanting loudly. As he had reached a crescendo, he had taken the crystal from his robe and held it high into the air, pointing it at the central stone. It was diamond shaped, and was the size of a fist.

  Light had hit the crystal from the moons, and had bounced onto the central stone, bathing the tall monolith in a pale luminescence. The other mages had then started their chanting, adding to the spell, raising their arms in a harmony of sound. The central stone seemed to shudder, and eight beams of moonlight had burst forth from the stone to envelop the rest of the circle. All the mages were now bathed in a pale glow, looking like spectres from another world.

  Vergail had then recited a hymn to Untaba, asking for his divine guidance in the proceedings. A column of green light had issued from the central stone, forming a circular image that even now filled the sky, like a shimmering portal into the unknown.

  The image had mutated, and Nagoth watched as they had sped underground, flowing through rock and soil. Vergail had explained to him that they were following the land’s pain, back to where the tremors were most potent. Suralubus had spoken, and away in the village of Roth the sorcerer had been revealed to them as the mages’ spell took effect, called forth from the ground into the form of another standing stone.

  The sorcerer’s face shone done on them, his image flickering like green fire over the gardens of Malana.

  “That’s him,” said Nagoth. “The one who killed my brothers. The one who burns the land at his touch.”

  “He is in Roth,” announced Suralubus, his arms trembling with energies. “He has a Slardinian with him.”

  “The one we captured!” hissed Nagoth in anger. “He must have rescued him!” Agitated, the Norfel turned to Suralubus. “What of my village?”

  Suralubus chanted, and his brethren echoed his words. The image in the sky changed, as again the spell followed the land, broken and ruined, back through the journey the sorcerer had taken. Nagoth watched as the trees of his home came into view. After agonizing moments his village appeared. It was unharmed. They could see Norfel walking about, the fires and lights of the village burning as they had always done.

  “Safe!” gasped Nagoth in relief.

  In cruel irony to the Norfel’s statement, at that instant, one of the mages collapsed to the ground with a startled cry of pain. Immediately his stone fell into darkness, the spell broken.

  The image flickered, and returned to the sorcerer’s features. His eyes were narrowed. His mouth was speaking.

  “What is he saying?” asked Nagoth, a sudden fear clasping his heart.

  Another cry of pain, and another mage toppled to the ground, his stone extinguished. The image above flickered again, and started to fade.

  Suralubus was sweating profusely. His arms ached, and were shaking violently as he struggled to keep the spell active. “He utters a spell,” he muttered. “He’s forcing us to relent. He is…strong!”

  A further mage crumpled as the sorcerer’s spell retaliated.

  “How is he doing this?” exclaimed Nagoth. “He is but one – your spells must be stronger!”

  Vergail began to join in the fray, praying to Untaba. The image flared in the sky anew. Sensing this new threat, the sorcerer’s eyes rested on the priestess, widening in sudden recognition. With a wild shriek, Vergail tore herself away from his gaze. Her words to Untaba faltered, and died.

  Suralubus broke the contact, lowering the crystal. The image in the sky faded into nothingness. His whole body shuddered and he fell to the earth, as did his remaining brethren, spent and exhausted. The darkness of night devoured the stone circle.

  Nagoth rushed to the side of Suralubus, helping the high mage to sit. “What just happened?” The Norfel demanded.

  “He…sent the energies of our seeing spell back onto us,” said the high mage, his breath wheezing in strain. “He used his power of corruption over the land against us. We could not maintain the spell with such an onslaught of energy.”

  “I don’t understand,” confessed Nagoth.

  “No matter,” answered Suralubus. “At least, it appears, your village is safe.”

  The Norfel nodded. “I thank you for looking. Yet what of Malana? He is surely coming here. Roth is on the way, is it not?”

  The mage nodded. “Yes, he is travelling to Malana, it would seem.”

  “Why? Who is he? What is his purpose here?” Suralubus’ eyes rested on Vergail, who had slumped to the ground, her knees in the dirt, her head bowed in prayer. She was shaking from head to toe, rocking from side to side.

  The high mage’s voice was a whisper on the night air. “He recognized the priestess. I think he comes for her.”

  9. Battle of two worlds

  “I have…dreamed of him,” said Vergail quietly. She sat in Suralubus’ chamber, sitting cross-legged before the warmth of the fire, just as Keldoran had done earlier. The high mage sat opposite, his eyes thoughtful, staying silent while the priestess revealed to him her side of the tale.

  The burning logs of the fire crackled, the only sound in the room. Vergail’s face was pale, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. She had not spoken at all on the journey back to the guild following the magick in the gardens. Suralubus had insisted on speaking with her, alone, before he summoned his brethren to a special meeting designed to tackle the problem of the approaching sorcerer.

  It could not wait. The sorcerer was but a day’s walk from Malana, and defences would have to be put in place. The mages had to protect the citizens of the city; he hoped it would not come to an outright battle. He just wanted to find out more about the sorcerer: why he was here, where he had come from, and why his very presence was threatening the land around them. Perhaps the priestess could shed some clue about the strange wizard coming for her.

  “I remembered his face,” Vergail continued. “Those strange, dark eyes of his. There is no mistake. I recognised him just as he recognised me.”

  “Yet you have never met him before, so how is it that you both share memories of one another?” Suralubus shifted his position on the rug, feeling fidgety.

  “I know not,” answered the priestess. “I have only dreamt of him once, and it was earlier today, before I came to see you at the stones.”

  “Then, mayhap, he dreamt of you at the same time. Dreams hold their own, unfathomable magicks. This is not mere coincidence. You are destined, or have been chosen, to meet this black eyed sorcerer. Of what did you dream of?”

  The question made Vergail anxious, and she stared at the floor, unwilling to gaze into Suralubus’ eyes. She did not want to tell him the full content of her dream. There was something – inexcusable – about a priestess th
inking erotic thoughts, especially when it concerned a dark stranger. The fact that it had happened at all unnerved her; it made her less complete and less faithful to Untaba. A priestess was pure, not bowing to a hedonistic and lustful nature. She would hear no more talk of the dream.

  “That is all I can tell you,” she answered Suralubus smoothly. “My dream content is of no relevance. I’m afraid I cannot give you any insight. The sorcerer is a stranger, and I know not why I had a vision of him.”

  Suralubus could sense the priestess’ discomfort, but made no more of the issue. “Then, I bid you to stay here, Vergail, for your safety, until this matter is settled. The mages will watch over you personally.”

  She nodded her thanks, grateful. She could not shake off her sudden nerves. “What of the sorcerer? What are your plans?”

  “I will confront him, with my brethren supporting me. We need to try and communicate with him, discern what his motives are. I sense great power in him, and he is a worry not just for Malana’s safety, I fear, but Emorthos itself. Such a chaotic power should not be allowed to go through the land unchecked. He has already caused great rumbles in the land. I fear for the future.”

  “What of the Slardinian that accompanies him?” “The lizard men have been banished from our shores. He shall be captured, and interrogated as to why he has broken this ancient pact. Now, priestess, if you will excuse me, I need to consult with my brethren and set our defences in place. You are welcome to stay and use my room as you see fit.”

  Vergail rose, accepting the high mage’s offer. “You are kind, Suralubus, thank you,” she said. “What of the dream? Will you look at the ancient texts to see if anything like this has been recorded before? Maybe it wasn’t of this sorcerer’s doing.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t his doing, Vergail,” replied Suralubus. “He was as surprised to see you as you were to see him. The visions are inexplicable. I will give this much thought, and of course I will be looking at our history texts most closely. In the meantime, should you receive any more dreams or visions related to this sorcerer, inform me at once.”

  The priestess smiled. She suddenly appeared strong again, to his eyes. Strong, and stunningly beautiful. “Of course,” she agreed. The content, however, should it prove erotic again, she would keep to herself. “I bid you good luck in your defences and may Untaba’s eyes show you the truth in your search.”

  The wizard gave her a curt nod and departed.

  Vergail sat and warmed herself by the fire. Her mind, again, wandered to the dream. Despite her mind condemning the vision as immoral and sinful, she startled herself at how her body reacted to the memory. It had need, and she trembled excitedly. The vision certainly had not been horrific, or alarming.

  She had enjoyed it, and that fact alone worried her more than anything.

  Keldoran rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt like sleeping, but his mind was too active for sleep to come.

  The mages had given him and the others separate bed chambers. There was a communal room where they could all gather to talk, and eat, when the mages brought them food. It was here that Keldoran decided to walk to, clambering out of his prepared bed. Maybe some of his new friends would be there; he was sure no-one would sleep successfully tonight.

  They had been given fresh linen and an assortment of soft furnishings, making their rooms comfortable and welcoming. A wardrobe had been provided, carrying various items of clothing, including a bed gown and, to their delight, grey robes to be worn as befitted a member of the mage guild. One ‘o the robes, Keldoran thought with a grim smile, hearing his father’s voice in his mind.

  He took the grey robe out of his wardrobe, holding the velvety fabric lovingly in his hands. He had dreamed of his own set of mage robes for years. Shrugging off his bed gown, a pale grey piece of cloth that did nothing for comfort, merely there to enhance one’s modesty, he pulled on the warmer, grey robe. It fitted him perfectly.

  Also provided were a sash to bind the robe to his waist, pale red in colour, and a pair of dark grey boots, his footwear. This was all the mages wore. Keldoran put his boots on, again a perfect fit, and glanced at the tall mirror that adorned one of the walls of his chamber.

  Looking back at him was a mage. A natural born mage of the land. Keldoran liked the look of the person in front of him, but the person was a stranger. He vowed he would get to know this stranger.

  It was no wonder he could not sleep, after the last few days. His brain reeled from all he had learned about himself, and of the tale of the Ice Lords. In addition, Vo’Loth, the name he had heard from his dream, had turned out to be the Ice Lord’s leader. What did it all mean?

  Keldoran left his bedroom and made his way to the communal room. He had been shown the way; it wasn’t very far. Mandorl had said he would be shown the full breadth of the guild in good time, but at the moment they needed to wait until the threat of the sorcerer had passed. Mandorl had assured him Suralubus would come on the morrow and talk to him further about his land magicks. They could not have given him a harder task. Waiting, it was a slow and frustrating business.

  He found Yvanna in the communal room. Evidently he had been right – sleep was as difficult on this night for his other companions as it was for him.

  Yvanna had certainly put her few hours alone to good use. She had bathed herself, untangled and washed her hair, which hung straight and golden, and had put on a fresh change of clothes, no doubt from one of her luggage boxes. She now wore a pale red dress; it seemed to accentuate her breasts, pushing them forward, showing ample cleavage. Her shoulders and arms were bare, albeit apart from a gold bracelet which adorned her left wrist. The dress ended rather abruptly: a good way up from her knees. Keldoran flushed crimson and averted his eyes. She looked stunning to him, and her little body was very revealing in the garb she had chosen.

  Yvanna did not seem to notice his awkwardness. “Keldoran,” she acknowledged him with a nod. Her tone was peevish, her face downcast. She sat on a wooden chair, one of many in the room.

  Keldoran coughed slightly, trying to pin his eyes on anything but Yvanna. He stumbled over to her and sat in a chair next to her own.

  The room was warm and comfortable. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting mages and symbols he had never seen before. The floor was covered in a thick, velvety rug, which covered the stone underneath. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered throughout the room. From the ceiling hung metal and glass chimes, and occasionally, rather oddly, a slight breeze would make its way throughout the room, tinkling the chimes ever so slightly. Magick, presumed Keldoran, and it made for a relaxing sound to contemplate on.

  “The mages must come here to ponder,” said Keldoran quietly. “This place is amazing to me. So many sights and sounds. I would never have seen all of this back in Demorbaln."

  Yvanna sighed deeply. “I am wondering whether I should have stayed in the village!”

  “Oh?” Keldoran was startled. “How so? We’ve only just arrived-“

  “It’s all this waiting!” hissed the girl vehemently. “I came here to meet mages, to learn magick. So far we’ve been sent to our rooms without meeting a soul. I dressed like this-“ she indicated her dress, forcing Keldoran to blush anew, “- to make an impression with the other mage students, or even a mage himself. Then I discovered from Mandorl that we were to stay in our quarters! Well, I ignored him – I came here to see if anyone would show. I can’t just go to sleep – not on the first night.”

  “I couldn’t sleep either,” Keldoran admitted, “but for different reasons than you, I believe.”

  “Do I look beautiful to you?” she asked suddenly, not bothering to ask him of his reasons for insomnia. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes penetrating. She leaned forward, offering one of her arms to his face. “Smell!” she commanded before he could utter a reply. Keldoran sniffed, and was immediately assaulted by a sickly sweet perfume. Yvanna must have covered herself in a bottle of the stuff.

  “It’s the most expensive perfume I ow
n,” she declared petulantly. “I put all this on, made all this effort, and now it’s wasted. There is no welcoming party. No-one will see my beauty tonight.”

  Keldoran opened his mouth to say something, but Yvanna pushed herself to her feet. “Goodnight, Keldoran,” she said to him, sighing. “I will see you at breakfast.” She vanished from the room in a sea of smell and colour in as little time as it took for Keldoran to blink.

  The sway of the chimes in the room suddenly seemed to have a harsh twang to them, and Keldoran found his thoughts even more disturbed. He had come on the hope that someone would listen to his own problems, not shout about their own grievances. He found himself annoyed at Yvanna, then. For all her beauty, for all her posturing, she was a girl simply trying to find a date. The threat of the sorcerer, the beauty of Malana, the events that had happened on their way here, all seemed forgotten to her. Keldoran shook his head in disbelief. Wasn’t she even afraid of what was to come?

  He had much deeper concerns, the sorcerer foremost on his mind. Who was this man, that could harm the fabric of the land, and cause his own magick to rise within him? Where did he come from?

  He prayed the leader of the mages, Suralubus, would find the answers, and also the answers to controlling the magicks that bubbled within him.

  “Good evening, Keldoran!”

  Keldoran glanced up at the voice, and saw Corg, the Bu’Kep, walk into the room. The young man smiled in greeting, relieved and glad that someone else had made an appearance. He did not want to be alone, this night. “So,” started Corg, sitting down in the seat Yvanna had just vacated, “how do you fare, mage of the lands?” “Oh, please…” Keldoran gave a nervous shake of the head. “I don’t know who I am, right now.”

  “That’s understandable,” replied Corg, in sympathy. “It’s not everyday you get to hear you’re a natural mage. Yet that’s not the only thing that troubles you, is it?” Keldoran eyed the juggler suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “I am very perceptive, Keldoran. It’s what keeps my race from becoming extinct. Many doors and many people cast us aside as freaks. Well, I can’t say I blame them. I do have an odd horn in my forehead.”