by Sam Ferguson
The Immortal Mystic
By
Sam Ferguson
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The Immortal Mystic
Copyright © 2015 by Sam Ferguson
All Rights Reserved
For Attila, Linda, and Mate
Contents
Other Books by Sam Ferguson
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
About the Author
Other Books by Sam Ferguson
Tales from Terramyr (Short story anthology)
The Dragon’s Champion Series
The Dragon’s Champion
The Warlock Senator
The Dragon’s Test
Erik and the Dragon
The Immortal Mystic
The Netherworld Gate Series
The Tomni’Tai Scroll
The Dragons of Kendualdern
Ascension
CHAPTER ONE
The frigid air coursed around her skin as she slowly, deliberately moved through the darkened forest. Only the sound of crickets and the fluttering of bat’s wings dared to break the night’s silence. Her eyes scanned the bushes below and the branches above. She almost smiled when she spied a faint, red glow near the base of an old elm tree. She tiptoed close, but not so close as to trigger the magical ward. She set her bow down behind her and rubbed her hands together before holding her left palm out toward the ward. She could feel waves of heat pulsing out against her skin. To the uninitiated, it would have been imperceptible, a trap that would have melted the flesh and sinew of any trespasser in the blink of an eye. For her, it was merely a mild annoyance.
Her lips moved and the dispelling words rolled out in a whisper, crashing against the waves of heat and dispersing them until the ward itself fell apart. The red glow faded away, leaving an unobstructed path to the grove beyond.
She rose to her feet, scooping her bow up in her left hand and continued on her way. She found and dispelled three more such wards, each not unlike the first. The grove was close now. The wall of trees surrounding the grove were thick, so thick and close that she almost could not see through them. When she reached them she lighted upon a low hanging branch, twirled around it silently and launched upward as an acrobat might do. Upon reaching the top of the tree she peered down into the grove. She saw not but a large stone in the center, with a pair of wolves circling it endlessly.
Her fingers pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it. This was no ordinary arrow. The tip was made of fine glass, and the golden mixture inside swirled and glowed like cat’s eyes in the darkness. She pulled the string back and took aim. She let the arrow loose and the shaft flew straight and true, sending a sharp whistle through the air. The two wolves jerked away from their path around the boulder and their ears went flat against their skulls. The arrow slammed into the stone and a great flare of light exploded out and around the grove. The wolves yipped and scurried away with singed fur smoldering on their tails and backs.
She dropped from the tree, scimitar out and pointed down. She drove the blade through the wolf that broke her fall, then released her blade and somersaulted forward, effortlessly stringing another arrow as she came up. A flash of yellow fangs from the far end of the grove marked her target. She released her arrow and an instant later the second wolf crashed to the ground in a dead heap. She reached back and snatched her scimitar, dropping her bow and advancing toward the still burning flames upon the boulder. Only, there was no longer a boulder there. In its place stood a modest cabin of wood.
“Fiend!” a voice cried out from within the golden flames. “What have I to do with you?” The flames died down, fully revealing a cabin made of black logs and old, cracked shingles upon the roof. There were no windows, only a single door crisscrossed with iron plates. The door opened and a silver mist rolled out. “Enter if you dare, child of the shadow.”
She didn’t hesitate. Rushing forward she swept her left hand before her. A thick, knotty root broke through the ground before the cabin and extended into the building. Heavy thuds were followed by shattering clay and porcelain. She leapt atop the root and rode it above the silvery mist, stabbing down at a serpentine figure lunging up at her. The figure hissed and the mist rolled away.
The inside of the cabin was even darker than the forest. It seemed no light whatsoever made it into the dwelling. There was only a formidable, invasive cold. For others, it may have been overwhelming, or even crippling, but not so for her. She was born in such darkness, and raised in it. The shadow was to her as sunlight to a spring flower. It only heightened her senses and embraced her lovingly.
A heavy kettle sailed toward her. She ducked under it and dismounted from the ever extending root. The kettle flew on for many seconds before crashing into a wall. She looked around, taking in the space of the dwelling. As she had expected, the interior was much larger than the exterior shell would have hinted at. It appeared as large as any manor might be, with stairways and doors leading to other rooms beyond the grand entrance she found herself in. Behind her was an overturned washstand with shattered bits of a porcelain bowl all around on the floor. Clay figurines were broken in half amidst the porcelain shards.
“Admiring my home, are we?” a taunting voice called out.
She reached into her pocket and pulled a small satchel out. She knelt low and unclasped the flap so that two small, black lizards with red stripes upon their backs emerged. They flicked their tiny tongues and looked up to her. She whispered a spell and in an instant they grew larger than the wolves she had just slain. She flicked her eyes to the stairs, and the lizards sped off. Neither of them made any sound.
“Perhaps you are rethinking your quest?” the voice called out again. “I have survived in these orcish lands for many decades. Many have come before you, but none have ever so much as seen my face before meeting their death.”
She rose to her feet and silently made her way to a nearby door. As she reached out for the handle she paused. A warm, pulsing heat emanated from the metal. She backpedaled and knelt behind a large armoire. Then, she motioned with her hands at the handle. The root sprouted an offshoot that creaked and popped as it expanded and writhed around the metal. Not a second after it pulled, the entire door shattered in a shower of flame and lightning. There had been a ward on the opposite side. The offshoot withered away, but the main root continued to snake through the house. Within seconds offshoots sprouted at every door, and around every corner. Explosions and tremors rocked the entire dwelling.
She remained still, waiting for all of the traps to spring.
“Clever,” a voice echoed through the dwelling. A deep, purple light emanated from the floorboards, starting in the back of the room and advancing toward the door. A column of light and smoke shot up, severing the root and sending an electrical bolt running along the extended limb, scorching and killing every inch of it.
The entrance then sealed itself. A wall of slab rose up from the floor, shutting off the outside world, and all escape routes.
The column of purple light shrouded itself in a cloud of silver an
d then a figure stepped out. “You have done well in the darkness,” he said. “Now let us see how you fare in the light.” He clapped his hands and in a moment the entire dwelling was bathed in bright, hot light as if the sun sat in the high arches of the vaulted ceiling above them. A crystal chandelier crackled and popped with flame and lightning.
She stepped out from behind the armoire and smiled at him.
His long, pale features turned into a frown as his grey eyes fell upon her. The bushy, white brows knitted together and his head cocked to the side. “You?”
“Who else would it be?” she replied.
“But why would you turn against me? I am one of the council members.”
She stepped toward him, smiling wryly as she dragged a finger along the nearby brass bannister. The scimitar in her left hand twirled and she winked. Her right hand dove into a small bag and came up with an empty vial made of obsidian.
“You seek my power?” he asked. His features turned hard and he narrowed his eyes on her. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. In response there was a commotion from the upper chambers. Four-legged animals came running toward the stairs. “You are foolish,” he said. He smiled wickedly and pointed to the stairs.
She didn’t bother to turn her head. Instead, she kept a close watch on him. A moment later his self-assured smile melted away and an open-mouthed gasp took its place. She didn’t have to glance up. She knew that he now saw her charmadors.
“Did my father ever tell you why we Sierri’Tai kept charmadors?” she asked. “They have a tremendous ability to sniff out demons. Better than that, they have an uncanny ability to slay all but the most powerful of them. They are immune to most spells used by demons, and no matter how fast an imp or clever a demon may be, the charmador is always one step ahead.”
The man shook his head in unbelief. “I thought charmadors extinct.”
“No, my dear Tyraleks, they are not. They simply dwell so deep within the abysmal caves below the surface of Terramyr that most mortals dare not seek them out. One must go nearly to the Netherworld to find them, for that is where they were born of lava and shadow, and that is where they learned to hunt the demons seeking to enter Terramyr from the abyss. They are fierce guardians of this world.”
Tyraleks closed his mouth and his upper lip curled into a snarl. “You shall not take me, Salarion.” He lunged forward, empowered by magic that gave him strength beyond what his fragile, aged body ever could.
Salarion dodged to the left, speaking a counter spell as she moved. A great bolt of lightning slammed into a shield she created around herself. Tyraleks plowed through the base of the stairs, igniting the wood and sending shards flying out around him.
The pair of charmadors leapt down the remaining steps and jumped to the bottom, narrowly escaping the flaming shards of wood.
Next the chandelier fell from the ceiling, coming to life and using its chains as tendrils to strike out at them. Salarion followed Tyraleks while the charmadors tangled with the enchanted chandelier. She knew she had to reach Tyraleks before the shadowfiend could create an escape tunnel. She raced through the wreckage, leaping over fallen beams and ducking under jagged pieces of stone and wood that hung precariously from the ceiling. A force emerged from the side and barreled into her. She shrugged it off, knowing it was nothing more than a spell designed to slow her down. She reached around her back and pulled her bolas out. She took aim, watching the shadows and the purple glow around her target. She threw the bolas and then whispered another incantation.
At that moment, one of the charmadors raced by her with such blinding speed that her clothing and hair blew to the side. A moment later a terrible shriek erupted and the whole of the house shook and trembled.
Salarion raced toward her prey, wary not to let her guard down. A ball of fire erupted around her charmador, but the lizard held fast, with Tyraleks’ left leg caught in its mouth. The shadowfiend howled and roared. His fingers grew into sharp, long talons and his teeth grew into sick, wicked fangs. He tore at the charmador, ripping the lizard’s flesh along its neck. The lizard whipped its massive tail into Tyraleks’ face, shattering the shadowfiend’s jaw and knocking him back.
Salarion was there a moment later. Her scimitar chopped down, severing Tyraleks’ left arm at the elbow. Next she stabbed through Tyraleks’ right shoulder and pinned him to the ground. She noticed that her bolas had caught him around the thighs, just above the knees.
“What did you do to me?” Tyraleks snarled. “I can’t finish my transformation!”
Salarion smiled. “I put a special poison in the hooks along the bolas. That poison is seeping into your blood even now. Aside from that, my charmador has you in his mouth. He is literally neutralizing your spells as you think of them.”
Tyraleks groaned and snarled. As he squirmed, his fangs and talons reverted to human features. His lower jaw now hung loose where it had broken, and even in all of his rage, Tyraleks could no longer form words.
Salarion bent down and put the obsidian vial out next to Tyraleks’ head. “Now, do hold still. This is going to hurt.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lepkin woke. In his first few moments of consciousness he couldn’t understand why his left arm felt heavy and numb. He smiled then when the realization hit him. Lady Dimwater breathed in deeply. Her warm body was curled next to his, with her head resting on the middle of Lepkin’s outstretched left arm. He reached over with his right arm, rolling toward her and pulling her tight in an embrace. She breathed in and sighed, curling her fingers around his left wrist.
He watched her then, amazed that it had finally happened. True, their wedding was anything but perfect. One tends not to want firedrakes and assassins crashing such an event. Yet, somehow he still smiled when he thought of the ceremony. His mind drifted back through the years. All of the waiting, the yearning, and the swinging from accepting the fact they would never be together to the fits of rage because of it. Perhaps that was why he had become the man he was now. All knew of Lepkin, the legendary hero, but none of them knew him. What would people think if they knew his loyalty and devotion to the crown were only substitutions for the one he had wanted to give his life and soul to but never could?
He thought then of leaving with Dimwater. They could travel far away from Ten Forts and let Mercer and the thousands of soldiers deal with the menacing orcs at the gates. Ten Forts had stood against similar battles and fared well, so why should this time be any different?
Lepkin’s mind brought up Erik’s image. The young, blond boy who had fought so well, and lost so much over the last many weeks. It would crush the boy if Lepkin were even to hint that he wanted to leave. No, as much as he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the northern forests with his new bride, there wasn’t any way around it. His duty trapped him now as much as it ever had. Lepkin would continue to put on the stoic, loyal mask he always had. He would put the Middle Kingdom’s interests above his own. This time, however, it was much harder to find the motivation to do so.
He slipped his right arm away from Dimwater and lay upon his back. Until the time came when they were free, he could at least plan his getaway. Somewhere remote, a place only the two of them would know about. Some place where they could finally enjoy each other fully, without distraction or interruption.
A tremendous thunder shook the walls and the bed upon which Lepkin and Dimwater lay. Dust fell from cracks in the ceiling and the stone floors creaked and groaned.
Dimwater’s body tensed. Lepkin peered over at her and she offered him a half-smile.
“The orcs have come,” Dimwater said grimly.
Lepkin slid his arm out from under her and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Dawn’s first light was only beginning to come in through the open window. He rose to his feet and made his way to look outside. Another thunder shook the fort. Again bits of dust and small pieces of stone fell from the ceiling, but Lepkin moved without losing balance.
He placed his palms upon the window si
ll and leaned out. From his vantage point high in one of the towers, he could see the forest beyond the walls in the south teeming with orcs. Great trebuchets hurled massive boulders at the walls and towers. Hundreds, if not thousands, of orcs set ladders to the walls and climbed up as soldiers rained down hot oil and arrows from above.
“They have reinforcements,” Lepkin said. “There are more out there than yesterday, a lot more.”
Lady Dimwater sat up. The left strap on her silken night gown fell loosely over her shoulder. “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned our first few weeks of being married.”
Lepkin looked to her and nodded with a smile. “We could leave,” he said half-jokingly.
Dimwater scoffed and smoothed out the bedding next to her. “Well, we can’t do that, but perhaps we could think of something to occupy our time, until we are called upon.”
“I doubt it will be long now before a porter comes up to fetch us,” Lepkin said as he cast a longing look over her form.
“Then, it is time we lend our strength to the forts.”
Lepkin nodded and returned to watching the sea of bodies rushing wave after wave at the walls. “We will need to rouse the others.”
The door burst open behind them and Lepkin whirled around to see Tatev, breathing heavily and doubling over. His shoulders heaved up and down with each breath and he held a finger up in the air, asking for a moment. Dimwater pulled the blanket up over her nightgown.
“My apologies,” Tatev offered to Dimwater. “Erik is gone.”
“Gone?” Dimwater echoed. Her voice sounded unusually panicked.
Lepkin folded his arms and arched an eyebrow at Tatev. “What of Jaleal?” he asked.
Tatev shook his head. “He is gone as well.”