Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage

by Paul Freeman

  Crawulf smashed the iron boss of his shield into the face of a charging man, his own momentum driving the round metal into his cheekbone. The man fell screaming as Crawulf stabbed down with his sword, before turning to face another. Dark eyes full of hatred glowered at him for an instant before life drained from them and he toppled backwards, his lifeless body held up by the snarling warriors coming behind him. Either side of him, Crawulf’s men—those few who yet lived—fought, as all Nortmen do, without fear of death, their only concern that the gods witness their bravery and they do not dishonour themselves before man or god. Beyond them, Normand’s men fought with a methodical savageness. Every stroke, every movement contained fury.

  The sound of a colossal crack rent the air then, and it seemed as if time stopped. Men in mid-blow turned away from their opponent, even those dying on the blood-sodden earth strained to see as the final stone split down the centre and piece by piece fell apart. The mist cleared and Crawulf stood, mouth agape, fear overwhelming him with invisible bonds, restricting all movement.

  The sound of Rosinnio screaming snapped him back. He saw her fall onto her back, her body convulsing on the ground. He searched for the fat body of the Shadow Mage. Somehow he had moved through the battle and into the ranks of Normand’s men. He held the duke on his knees—seemingly powerless—while he gripped his head in both hands, a jewel dangling from a golden chain between his fingers.

  “I am developing an intense dislike for that mage,” the jarl of Wind Isle snarled. “Janri, help her. Get her to safety,” he instructed one of his few remaining men, while he turned to face the horror that had appeared where the circle of stones once stood.

  ***

  Aliss watched the battle unfold, feeling as if she were waking from a dream. Her last real grip on reality had been when Tomas had left their home in the middle of the night to search for Marjeri’s babe, supposedly snatched from her cot by wolves. What had happened since then? I died, Tomas walked into the flames and carried me out. The old witch in the Great Wood had brought her back from the embrace of the All Father, but had used dark magic and the blood of an innocent to do it. That was wrong, and now the debt shall be repaid.

  Elandrial had been fooled by the Shadow Mage who brought her an army of tribesmen and promised to return to her, her realm, the sacred mountain of Eor. But his intention had always been to bring chaos into the world. He was a parasite living off the life-force of others, his own body long since destroyed. Balancing the lives of those whose bodies he stole against his own, prolonging his own existence, exchanging their lives for his own.

  Aliss’ heart and mind had been exposed to blood magic, the darkest of all powers when the witch swapped one life for another. It had changed her appearance, and planted a black seed within her… yet, that was not her. All she ever wanted was to help people, to ease the suffering of others, and to live her life with Tomas. It was she to whom women unable to conceive visited seeking a charm to aid in the planting of a seed. She who was called when a child or beast of the field fell ill, or a farmer needed a broken leg splinted. Her reward was to be raped and sent to the pyre, her home torched, her man beaten. Yet they had endured.

  The magic she possessed that was at the root of her was not the blood magic of the old witch or the Shadow Mage. It was of the earth, gifted to her by the All Father. She could feel the life of the valley all around her, the seeds in the cold earth waiting for spring, the animals hiding from the beast of man, but all around them, watching, even the patterns of the air, meaningless to most, but a map to the future and the weather it would bring. Above all, she could feel the fear and confusion of that which Suilomon had called from beyond the stones. Tomas had told her he sensed its evil. It was not evil, it was no demon taking shape, even as she watched the Shadow Mage drift, like smoke, through the battlefield until he held his prize in his two hands: Duke Normand poised, albeit unwilling, to become his newest host. It was simply a beast, not unlike those of the forest, but out of place, out of time. It did not belong in the world of men and that is why it seemed evil to all who saw it, all who felt it. Harren Suilomon did not understand this either.

  Often, while trying to heal a farm animal, or soothe the hurts of a beast of the forest she would touch its mind, ease its pain and fill it with reassurance, feelings of warmth and calmness. When she touched the mind of the summoned beast it felt like a hammer blow, the sheer weight of its emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She could feel its fear, feel herself being submerged by the depth of its feelings; she could feel herself being absorbed by the creature.

  When she looked, she saw through its eyes the creatures running from her, milling in fear, not unlike the hunters, of her own world, she and her kind were wary of, although their skin was lacking the green hue to it, those that sought to ensnare her kind with their nets and long sharp teeth they carried in their hands. When she stretched out her arms, thick leathery wings unfolded. She longed to take to the safety of the sky, where the little creatures with the stinging teeth they threw could not harm her; to float on the air, through the clouds, to feel the heat of the sun warming her. She looked up at the towering, ice-capped peaks around her, that is where she would be safe, that is where she needed to build a nest.

  The little creatures ran from her when she began to rise. She could taste their fear as she recognised another feeling – hunger. As she stretched her wings to their full length and floated on the air just above the fleeing creatures she saw one who filled her with a strange sensation of warmth, overriding her instinctive need to hunt. He was kneeling beside a female. She could feel his sorrow, leaving her with a burning ache in her chest.

  Tomas.

  She felt a sharp tug on her mind then. It jerked her attention away from the two lone creatures. One was calling to her, hurting her. This one wished to possess her. She could feel him tugging on her mind, forcing her to obey his commands. She felt her chest burn as she unleashed all of her rage. Flames engulfed the little running creatures, scorching the earth, before she beat her heavy wings and aimed for the sky. My name is… for the briefest of moments an image of a blonde-haired girl filled her mind… and was gone. The open skies and the lofty heights of the mountains waited.

  Jarl Crawulf – Tomas: Hidden valley

  Crawulf stood to face the terror emerging from where the stones once stood. A massive creature unfurled leathery wings, the skin of its body reddish-black scales. When it opened its mouth to roar, the noise rooted him to the spot, freezing the blood in his veins. “Feergor!” he gasped. “Is this the end of time?” A smile snaked across his lips. “I thank thee, All Wise, for granting me a death beyond all deaths!” he roared above the noise of the dragon. He flung away his shield and gripped his sword two-handed ready to die a glorious death at the hands of a god.

  But the dragon did not attack him. Instead it flew over his head. All around him men from opposing sides dropped their weapons and ran, the fear of the beast overriding all others. Crawulf alone stood his ground, shouting words of defiance. A huge shadow passed over him as the dragon beat its wings and took to the air. The jarl swung around to follow its flight and caught sight of the Shadow Mage. The fat Sunsai noble had flung Normand aside as he stretched out his arms towards the dragon, calling to it. The beast turned around and flew over their heads again, only this time he raked the ground with fire. Flames engulfed men from both sides including the Shadow Mage. He screamed in pain as his scorched body fell down by the still body of the duke.

  “Strike him down before he can transfer his life force into another!” Rosinnio cried out. Crawulf allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction that his woman still lived before he ran towards the mage. He hauled the badly burnt body away from the duke.

  The Shadow Mage met his eyes, and Crawulf saw the fear there.

  “Now you die,” he said before cleaving his head from his body with a single blow.

  Rosinnio stood by Crawulf’s side. “You did it. You have killed him.”

 
; “Aye,” Crawulf said and staggered back. He could feel his legs buckling beneath him as pain from a score of wounds washed over him. All around them the earth was scorched black. He could feel the heat in the air as he tried to take in deep breaths. Suddenly his woman was propping him up, lending her support to his bulkier frame. “And you?” He forced out the words.

  “I am well.” She smiled. “I am tougher than I look.”

  “And the dragon?” Crawulf looked up to the sky, where there was no sign of the great winged beast.

  “I think that is Duke Normand’s problem now,” she answered.

  “What is my problem?” Normand staggered up to them, grimacing as he brought both hands up to his head.

  “The dragon, my lord,” the duke’s man, Malachi answered.

  Normand gave him a withering look. “There are no such things as dragons,” he said.

  “Did you miss the whole battle?” Crawulf asked while Rosinnio stifled a grin.

  “When we meet again, Nortman, it will be as enemies,” Normand said.

  “Aye, likely as not,” Crawulf answered.

  The duke held out his hand and Crawulf took his wrist in the warrior’s grip.

  “What of them?” Malachi asked, pointing towards a large blond man who walked towards them, carrying the limp body of the white-haired witch.

  “It was he who killed the dream-witch, and I don’t know what she did, but somehow she wrested control of the dragon from the Shadow Mage,” Rosinnio said.

  Crawulf gazed around the battlefield, amazed at how few men were still standing. Of his own men he had led to the valley, all but two were now dead, his friend Rothgar included. “I think any who have survived this day thus far deserve to live,” he said. “What now?” he directed towards Rosinnio.

  “Now we should go home.”

  ***

  Tomas carried the lifeless body of his woman from the valley, not caring if he was struck down by the duke’s men as he passed, or scorched with dragon fire as he’d seen others fall. Aliss weighed almost nothing in his arms, yet the burden on his heart was heavier than any he’d ever borne. She gave her life in the saving of others. That would have pleased her.

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