A Wizard's Tears

by Gilbert, Craig

  Keldoran glanced to the floor, subdued and embarrassed.

  “As I was saying, “ Corg continued, “I’ve learned to see through people, to see beyond the polite greetings and the false smiles. Most people who smile at me either are plain scared of me, or don’t know what else to do. You…are different. You smile at me because you are genuinely pleased to see me. For this, I thank you. You are so much better than a lot of the people of this land.” Keldoran was stunned by the compliment, and simply nodded in appreciation.

  “So, maybe I can return the favour of friendship to you, Keldoran, and talk with you about your concerns. I might even be able to help, being an experienced and welltravelled fellow, you know.”

  “Do you know anything about the Ice Lords?” asked Keldoran, clearly accepting the Bu’Kep’s offer.

  Corg’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that question. Maybe I should ask you what you know about them first, hmm?”

  “I know very little, “ shrugged Keldoran. “The high mage told me of the history of the land, about the battle between Ice Lords and Slardinians, and why your race hate the Norfel so much…”

  Corg’s brow furrowed in understanding and remembered anger. “Yes, I know the history. We have never truly forgiven the Norfel for their lack of aid in the Slardinian war. Perhaps it is time we put our differences aside, but I don’t think I’m the one to do that – my blood boils whenever I catch sight of one of the green-skinned cowards!”

  Keldoran trembled slightly at the sound of Corg’s voice, which was filled with hate and poison. He carried on hurriedly. “Well, in answer to your question, the mage told me of how the Ice Lords came and defeated the Slardinians, and how they prophesied the return of one of natural magicks. I’m wondering if this person is me…” Corg was quiet for long moments after this, clearly pondering. Finally he spoke, and confirmed Keldoran’s thoughts. “A natural born mage has not been seen in hundreds of years. You are the first, and this has been confirmed by the high mage here. You may well be the one the Ice Lord spoke of.”

  “But what can this mean?” asked a worried Keldoran. “I know nothing about my power, how to harness it…nothing. How can I be the one to give peace and prosperity to the land?”

  “All in good time, my friend,” said Corg soothingly. “All in good time. The mages here will train you. They will know of ways to harness your talents. The peace and prosperity may just evolve naturally. You are very friendly and open, a rare treat of a person to talk to. Maybe that will be all you need!”

  “Thank you,” stammered Keldoran.

  “Don’t mention it. Oh, and as to your question, I have heard of the Ice Lords, but never seen one. Blue skinned, tall fellows, by all accounts, but I’ve never visited Isoch to the north. Too cold for my old bones.”

  “I know one of the Ice Lords’ names,” announced Keldoran then. “Vo’Loth!”

  Corg appeared startled, but covered up his surprise quickly. “You know much more than me about Ice Lords, Keldoran. My best advice to you right now is, don’t worry. You are in the magick guilds of Malana. Once this sorcerer has been dealt with, you will get the training and answers you seek.”

  Keldoran nodded. “It’s just the waiting…it’s unbearable.”

  Corg grunted in agreement. “I am sure, however, that things will certainly get interesting here in next to no time at all.”

  Suralubus entered the dark cavern, part of a labyrinth of tunnels built long ago underneath the guild of mages. Few knew of their existence, others would not dare to travel the caverns: being so close to the magicks of the land, power could be felt emanating through every vein of rock. It was said by some mages that the land knew who visited it there, deep in the dark, and judged their souls.

  The high mage had no fear as he entered the catacombs; he had been here many times before, to hide powerful artefacts from prying eyes and thieves, and also to seek solace. Here, he felt truly alone, more so than his personal chamber, and he found the silence calming to his mind.

  He came today to find a special item. The talk with the young man, Keldoran, had given him much to think about. The time of prophecy was close to hand, and he would need the artefact kept here for guidance. Moreover, it may help in his coming confrontation with the sorcerer.

  The cavern he had entered was vast, with a huge, domed ceiling, littered with stalactites. The ground sloped downwards, ending in a silent lake of icy water. Not a ripple could be seen on the surface; in fact, you could hardly notice the water in the blackness of the cavern. No lights were on here, Suralubus could see only by a night vision spell, which he had conjured prior to coming here. Even then, the darkness was palpable, organic, sucking anyone into it, smothering in its warm, black folds.

  Suralubus walked down to the edge of the lake, and touched the ground before it. He chanted softly, an ancient spell few could utter, and waited silently. After some time, a stone pedestal surged upwards out of the lake, circular and around three foot in diameter. Atop this pedestal was the artefact he sought, and had so carefully hidden, hundreds of years ago: it was a blue, crystal staff, made from what appeared to be pure ice.

  Surlaubus moved his hand so it was over the staff, and instantly his body jerked backward, as the power of the staff soared upwards to enter his hand. Immediately his mind was awash with images and powerful energies.

  He saw an icy wasteland, huge cliffs of snow covered granite stretching to own the blue skies above them. His eyes raced across this landscape, the energies from the staff bringing him to the source of the power. Over and under crevices and caves in the snow, across vast icy waters where icebergs reigned, past strange beasts covered in white fur, at last coming to a thin column of stone, the bottom of a ruined pillar. The image raced, raced ever higher, following the pillar up, up, to the very top.

  The beast slumbering atop the pillar stirred, as it felt the energies caress it lovingly. Cunning, slanted eyes opened from an eagle head, and the creature roared, beak opening to screech at the power that had awakened it. Great wings unfurled and felt the breeze in the air. The beast stood on its two legs, towering at least seven foot tall. Covered in brown feathers, Suralubus knew this to be a wild birdman of Isoch, a servant to the Ice Lords.

  With a snarl, the birdman vaulted off the pillar, and his great wings took to the skies, flying with speed. Suralubus watched as the birdman flew further and further away, knowing where it was headed, but to a place his energies could not take him.

  It was heading for the sacred home of the Ice Lords, and he had summoned them, as he had been bidden to do so, when the time came.

  The Slardinian hissed at the lights of the great city of Malana, as if its voice could shatter the light from the glowing orbs. Next to him, the dark sorcerer, Lorkayn, stopped, his black eyes hungrily eating up the sight of the walls in front of him.

  This was where he had been required to come: this city, the source of the images flooding through his brain. The priestess lived here, as did the power of this strange world. This is where the battle would begin, and this world would start to bow before him.

  He laughed at the wisdom of the gods that had sent him to this place. They had banished him from his homeland, Mincalen, to learn respect perhaps, or a value of life. He had been thinking why they had thrust images of this priestess into his mind, filling him with lustings and depravities: as if his mind wasn’t depraved enough!

  He wondered at their wisdom, not for the last time. He thought them afraid that they would not come and face him, but rather play this petty game of redemption. Only, he would not be redeemed. They had made him, and tried to mould him into what they had wanted. They wanted him to follow their guidance, like a moth to a flame. He would not. He could not. He sought answers. He sought to rival them himself. Yet they had brought him here. Folly! He would show them the defiance he had already shown them in his homeland. He would show the destruction he could cause to their objects of desire.

  As for the priestess, he
would ensnare her, seduce her, forcing her into his slave, his plaything. Then he would take the fight back, once more, to the gods themselves.

  The guards at the walls had already seen him, and the Slardinian, and raised an alarm. He could detect the wizards on the walls, looking down at him. He could sense their fear, and his lips curled into a derisive sneer. The ground beneath his feet rumbled, his presence causing it to shudder and quake. Behind him, he left a trail of destruction, with trees toppled and burned and roads turned to rubble. The land feared him, and the people feared him.

  Silently, he started walking towards the city gates, his Slardininan pet following, hissing all the while, tail slithering in suppressed anger across the ground.

  Mandorl Kesar stood on the walls, above the portcullis of the city gate, watching the stranger approach with his sinister pet. The time had come. “Summon Suralubus,” he ordered to one of his brethren, who nodded and vanished into the air, casting a quick spell of transportation. Mages had no need to use their legs when they needed haste.

  Within seconds, Suralubus appeared with the mage sent to find him. He nodded at Mandorl, and together, the two mages joined hands and teleported to the front of the city gates, just before the oncoming sorcerer.

  At the sight of the two wizards, the sorcerer stopped, motioning for the charmed Slardinian to do the same.

  Suralubus stood tall and proud, as did Mandorl. Both wizards had decided to face the sorcerer first. They were both the highest in skill and power, both with full control of The Waln, the highest level in known spell lore. It was hoped that they would be enough to stop this sorcerer. Surlaubus had been the first to caution his remaining brethren, who scoffed at the fact that this sorcerer would be any threat after facing them. In living memory, no man, mage or creature, had survived a battle with a member of The Waln. The wizards kept obedience in check from their sheer power alone.

  Suralubus was, however, worried about the dark stranger before him. He was not of the land of Emorthos, indeed, of Elrohen itself, but from another plane. Why he had come here was unknown, and the wizard wanted to glean some knowledge for the good of Elrohen. If there were other worlds out there, other societies, then this was a monumental moment in history. Two worlds, colliding for the first time. It craved understanding, not violence. Yet, in light of recent events, he knew the sorcerer to be hostile, and as such he must protect the land, and learn answers afterwards.

  The sorcerer was unpredictable. Who knew the full power the man possessed, of what affect his power would have with spells of The Waln, or Elrohen’s magick. Suralubus remembered the power from the stone circle, and also from the words of the scared Norfel who had come to see him. These warnings would not go unchecked. He must learn the full strength of this sorcerer, and quickly. One thing was for certain – he was not to be underestimated.

  He had put the city on full alert. Mages lined the walls of the city, watching the scene below. They were to attack should the sorcerer break through himself and Mandorl. The priestess had been kept secure in one of the towers of the guild, and would remain there, surrounded by mages, protected. The sorcerer came for her, and he would not allow Vergail to be taken by this stranger. He had also informed the people of the city to remain in their homes, away from any fighting that may occur.

  Lastly, Suralubus had sought out the artefact he knew he must, at this time. The Ice Lords, the protectors of ancient Elrohen, had to hear of this sorcerer and the effect on the land, as well as hearing of Keldoran, the young mage tied to the body of the land. He hoped they would return once more from their homes, giving the wisdom of the ages. He hoped they would come soon. Yet he knew not what they would do.

  So, the stage was set, and the time was now. Suralubus breathed deeply, drawing his power to himself. He could see Mandorl doing the same; preliminary exercises for casting multiple spells. They would both need to be at the peak of their talents tonight.

  The Slardinian hissed, his body moving from side to side in frustration at the delay in entering the city. He could smell food there, human flesh. Baring his fangs, the lizard man roared into the night, the sound bestial and dripping with malice and hunger.

  The sorcerer looked at the two wizards before them, noting their calm demeanour, and sensed the power in them. At last, he thought to himself, some worthy adversaries to slay. It would make his victory all the sweeter when these two champions of the world crumbled under his feet.

  Suralubus spoke first, his voice powerful and commanding as he felt his energies rising within him. “From where do you come from?” he boomed across the small distance to the sorcerer. “What business have you to come to this city?”

  The sorcerer merely smiled back, his black eyes intense. Suralubus found himself staring at those eyes, being sucked into the pools of darkness, entering realms he had never trod on, seeing sights he had never witnessed. With a physical effort he tore his gaze from the bewitching stare of the sorcerer. Such power, in this silent stranger! Lorkayn said nothing in response. He raised one of his hands aloft, and without warning, a fierce gust of wind came forth from his hand to stir up the dust of the ground at the two mages’ feet. Coughing slightly, Suralubus and Mandorl involuntarily stepped backward, away from the swirling clouds of dust.

  The sorcerer gestured at the ground in front of them, and this time his voice cried out in ancient sorcery. Suralubus could not understand the spell, but he could see the effect. Rising out of the ground, the dust swirled and began to coalesce into a form, an elemental made of dirt and stone.

  Mandorl exchanged glances with Suralubus at this first sign of the sorcerer’s magicks. They too, had control over the elements, and could mould and shape dirt into earth elementals, beings made of magick, using the structure of the element to give them form and substance. Yet they could not do it as easily as the sorcerer had just done, nor with the speed at which the sorcerer had conjured this being. Already the sorcerer was proving he held great power, and the thought worried both wizards.

  The elemental grew large fists of stone, the dust compacting and solidifying into the shape of two hands. One fist raised, and sped towards Mandorl, attempting to knock the wizard off his feet by a blow of earth and rock. Mandorl reacted quickly, using his years of training. He waited until the fist was almost upon him, then leapt into the air, spinning over the fist as it tried to strike. Landing neatly on his feet, the wizard began to utter his own spell, words tumbling forth from his lips in hurried, but measured, tones. Out of nowhere blasted a fierce gale, thundering into the moving earth, dissipating all form and substance, until the elemental was no more.

  Suralubus did not wait to see Mandorl dispatch the summoned earth being, but instead cast his own spell, directly at the sorcerer.

  Lorkayn’s eyes grew wide as he saw the city and the wizards fade before his eyes. In their place was a long road, heading up into mountains. Boulders lay to either side of the road, the rest of the landscape dusty and featureless. The Slardinian roared in fury at seeing the city disappear, and the smell of humans ebbing away. All he could see was a road, and mountains in the distance. The lizard man scratched his forehead with a talon, confused.

  Eyes narrowing in understanding, the sorcerer began to chant. This was an illusion, a cheap trick conjured by one of the mages to give them time. He would not offer them this chance to mount a more forceful attack. As he chanted, the Slardinian watched in awe as the mountains faded, and the road vanished to the view of the city once more. Again the smell of flesh alerted the lizard man’s senses.

  Suralubus saw his illusion had failed almost as soon as he had cast it. It had meant to give him and Mandorl some time to regroup, and mount a combined assault on the sorcerer, but within seconds his spell has been thrown aside and the sorcerer was upon them.

  With an inhuman cry, and clearly angry, the sorcerer ran towards the two of them, his hands aloft and glowing red energy. His speed was phenomenal, and caught them off guard. In a flurry of motion, he had slammed one of his ha
nds across Mandorl’s face, rivulets of red energy searing across his eyes, burning, blinding. At the same time, his other hand exploded into a blast of violent red magick. Like electricity, the energy coursed across Suralubus, and he was too slow to cast any protection spell. With a cry of pain, he fell to the ground, electricity surging through him.

  The battle of two worlds had begun, and already the power from the sorcerer was tearing the world of Elrohen, and its champions, apart.

  10. The Power Of Lorkayn Vergail was dozing. Dreams and images flooded her brain, vivid in detail: a heart, thumping loudly - her own? A distant cry, a scream, echoing in her mind over and over. She could smell the fires, burning wood and homes. Smoke, so much smoke, pouring out onto the streets of Malana.

  "No!" she yelled out, and woke with a start. She was lying in Suralubus' chamber, on the rug by the fire. The fire was smouldering. Maybe that was why she had dreamt of smoke. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she wondered how she had managed to doze. The room was warm, from the fire, and comfortable. Yet her mind was racing with worry; sleep had been the furthest thing from her mind.

  She hoped she hadn't been asleep for too long. Perhaps by now the sorcerer was already at the city's gates, perhaps even apprehended and Suralubus would walk in at any moment grinning. However, she could not shake off the feeling of impending danger. What if the sorcerer proved too strong for Suralubus? She shook her head as if to tumble the thought from her mind. Foolish thoughts, these were, and did nothing to lighten her worry. Suralubus was the strongest mage in Emorthos. He would not fail.

  Vergail stood and stretched her aching limbs. She had slept on top of one of her arms, and she flexed it several times to get the blood flowing through it again. Her hair fell down in a jumbled mass of black. She smiled subconsciously, glad in the knowledge that nobody was here to see her in such a dishevelled state. Still, she needed some air. What harm could it do to gaze at the city from the tower's walls? She was still safe, confined in the magician guild with mages all around her. Taking a small moment to straighten her hair and stand tall, the proud priestess left Suralubus' chamber and walked down the curved corridor, heading towards a viewing balcony.