The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)

by Sam Ferguson

  It sat in the blue and gray shadows of the early night, still and peaceful. It looked the same as it had while she had entered Jaleal’s mind. She knew the book her father helped to create was down there. With great effort, she kept to the shadows and moved alongside the buildings. Her eyes scanned the city streets, and then up into the windows. She could not allow herself to be caught now, not when she was so close to her goal.

  She slipped her hand into her satchel and pulled out her small charmador. She bent low and set him to the ground. This time she did not whisper the spell to change his form. Instead she glanced to the well with her eyes and then commanded the lizard to go before her. It skittered across the street, like a bolt of minute, black lightning. Up it went over the side of the well and then disappearing down inside.

  Salarion slipped her bow over her shoulder and held it at the ready. While she waited for the charmador to return, she continued to watch the streets and the windows for any sign of movement.

  A few minutes passed and then the charmador appeared over the rim of the well. It scampered down the side and back to her. Near her foot the small lizard curled its tail around itself and then dropped to its belly. The she-elf knew the book was down there. Better than that, the charmador had scouted the area for guards, and there were none.

  Salarion sprinted out across the street. She leapt up onto the side of the well and then used the bucket to slow her descent as she dropped down into the hole. The smell of water rushed up to greet her and the air turned cool and damp. Her eyes adjusted to the fathomless dark almost instantly. She saw the pool pf water and successfully made her dismounting leap to a small embankment nearby as the bucket plunged into the water.

  She turned and scanned the area. Other than the small, square landing of stone upon which she stood, water encircled her. She turned her eyes down to the clear liquid and scanned the depths. She spied a silver colored box several yards down in the water. She dove in to retrieve it. The cool water enveloped her and caused her muscles to tense for an instant as she acclimated to the temperature. She kept her eyes locked on the box as she swam down to it. As she wrapped her hands around it she smiled and then turned to press off from the bottom of the well. She rose up quickly and slid the box onto the stone ledge she had been standing on a moment before. She pulled herself up and shook the water from her hands. She opened her satchel and squeezed the mithril box inside. Then she made the arduous climb up the rope.

  As she grabbed the top of the well she paused, listening carefully as she whistled out.

  A high pitched squeak answered her. The charmador was giving her the all-clear signal.

  She pulled herself up and hurried back to the shadows where the charmador waited. Salarion dropped her hand low and the lizard crawled up into her palm. She brought him close to her mouth and whispered the spell to transform him.

  “We must hurry, stay a short way behind me and watch my back,” she commanded. She set the charmador back onto the stone street and moved on as the lizard shifted to its larger size.

  Salarion kept to the shadows as she wound her way through the city to the exit. Her good fortune seemingly halted when she spied someone standing in the gateway. He wore golden plate armor that shone in the moonlight. A great helmet covered his face, with wings of brass extending up from each side. A long scimitar hung at his side.

  “I see you,” the elf said pointedly.

  Salarion moved out from the shadows and drew her blade. “Stand aside, and none shall have to die this night, cousin-elf.”

  “I think not,” came the reply. The elf slowly drew his scimitar and held it in a low guard position. “You have trespassed in Tualdern. You also carry something that does not belong to you.”

  Salarion undid her outer belt which held her satchels and pouches. She tossed it to the side, knowing that her charmador could retrieve it and outrun any elf if needed. “Your name, then,” she pressed. “If we are to duel, I shall need your name.”

  “Has it been so long, Salarion?” the voice asked. A hand moved up and he removed his helmet to reveal his long, silver hair. “I am Talimdur, the son of Malinder the Wise, and grandson of Kellemoor the Magnificent. I am the captain of Tualdern’s guard. I am the victor of Heashert, and the Bane of Werewolves.”

  “Impressive,” Salarion replied. “I am afraid I have only my name to give you, as I have not earned any titles from Tualdern.”

  “Not so, Salarion,” Talimdur corrected as he took a few steps toward her. “You have earned yourself a great, infamous title. You are Salarion, the Viper of Tualdern. You and your father betrayed our peoples, and this great city. For that, I will slay you tonight.”

  The two of them locked eyes in silence. Salarion held her scimitar with both hands, but she was mentally preparing a spell, as she knew Talimdur likely was also. Neither of them moved for some time, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The air was still and stagnant. The area around them so quiet they could hear each breathing.

  Talimdur was the first to move. He lunged in quickly, slashing diagonally with his scimitar and then spinning into a horizontal chop after Salarion dodged the first strike. The she elf dropped into a backwards somersault and called out in her native tongue. A black root tore through the stone street and punched Talimdur in the stomach, lifting him and throwing him backward through the air. The nimble elf launched a series of lightning bolts from his right hand. The first seared and snapped the black root, the second and third bolts snaked out to Salarion, but the she-elf put up a magical barrier to block it. A terrible thunder ripped through the streets as the magical lightning collided with Salarion’s ward.

  To her surprise, Talimdur landed on his feet and quickstepped forward to slice the leftover nub of the root jutting out from the ground. The wounded plant hissed and retreated into the ground. Salarion moved in and sent a direct stab aimed for Talimdur’s chest, but she kept her sword in a guarding line, so that when he countered with a diagonal swing after spinning away, she was easily able to retract and block the counter attack. She then lashed out with a savage front kick. Talimdur brought up his right knee and allowed the front of his greaves to absorb the blow. As he brought his foot down he pushed forward with a head-butt that Salarion only barely managed to dodge. Now she was off balance, leaning over backward. Talimdur sent a quick swipe at her forward leg with his left leg. He connected and she fell to her back.

  Talimdur pressed in, twisting his sword into an upside-down grip and coming down for a killing blow, but Salarion stopped him with a quick double kick to the groin with the heel of her left boot followed by a strong right quick to the elf’s chest that knocked him back several paces. Salarion then muttered another spell and from her left palm leapt a great blue flame that crackled and hissed as it soared through the air toward Talimdur’s face.

  The captain of the guard quickly put up his own ward. The flames slammed against it and then evaporated into smoke. Talimdur rushed forward, slashing and hacking furiously. Salarion had no choice but to somersault backward to put her feet under her, then she quickly dodged left, then right, then right again. Finally she spun low under a chop and managed to score a hit, but her blade was stopped by Talimdur’s armor. In came a heavy fist that connected with her unprotected head. She went down to the ground, but then a flash of black and orange launched from the ground and tore at Talimdur’s neck. Salarion looked up to see a mess of silver hair matted with blood and tangled around her charmador. Talimdur growled and fought against the beast, but Salarion knew there was no use in fighting it. There had been a clean line to the elf’s neck, and her charmador had never missed.

  Suddenly a fury of lightning streaked down from the sky, blasting the stones around them. The charmador growled and hissed, but it did not loosen its grip. Salarion pushed up to her feet and prepared her sword for a killing strike, but then she saw something she did not expect. A pair of arrows protruded from the charmador’s body. She backed away from Talimdur and scouted the area around them
. She didn’t see any living elves, but she noted three dead archers lying in various parts of the street.

  She knew then that Talimdur had never intended to fight fairly. He must have been guarding the box, and they waited for what they thought was the right time to ambush her. Knowing she was an elf, they had likely been counting on her calling Talimdur into a duel, thereby abandoning her awareness of her surroundings. Her charmador had paid the price for her foolishness.

  “Still using tricks and games,” she muttered. “And you Sand Elves think yourselves so much better than me.” Salarion moved in and plunged her scimitar into the neck hole of Talimdur’s armor, narrowly missing running her lizard through as well. Talimdur twitched violently and then went rigid. Salarion pulled the scimitar and then the charmador released its grip. It limped away from Talimdur, revealing that a dagger had also been thrust into its underbelly.

  The lizard hissed and then moaned as it collapsed onto the stone. Its side went up and down with labored breaths. Blood ran out from the several wounds. He was far beyond saving.

  “You were faithful to the end,” Salarion whispered as she bent down to the animal. “I will miss you.” In one swift move she pulled her dagger and ran it through the soft part under the charmador’s jaw and up into its brain to end the creature’s suffering.

  Salarion pet the lizard one last time and then made for the belt with her satchel on it. She needed to make her escape before anyone else found her.

  *****

  “There, I see it,” Jaleal said as he stepped back out from a tree. “The village is another mile or so up the mountain. It is nestled in a nice plateau and looks like it could very easily be the home of the Immortal Mystic.”

  “How so?” Erik asked.

  Jaleal shrugged. “I am not sure how to describe it. It just felt different.”

  The two of them continued the hike up the narrow trail. The trees grew thicker and taller here, effectively shielding the area from below. Birds sang here, something very different from the deadness of the plains where the Tarthuns had been. There were also deer and rabbits wandering through the forest. Erik and Jaleal would have stopped to hunt, but they both knew they were so close to their goal that they had to press on.

  Now that Salarion had Nagar’s Secret, there was no turning back. Erik had to learn the secret to destroying it.

  As they crested over the top of the mountain and looked out at the plateau before them, Erik’s mouth dropped open. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Jaleal nodded and leaned on his spear for support. “It is not bad for a human village,” he put in.

  Erik glanced to his companion and then back to the village. A stone wall about four feet high encircled the dozen or so houses that comprised the heart of the village. Black rows of earth were evenly tilled and budding with crops. Many people worked the fields, while others were busy carrying lumber or moving to and fro. The plateau stretched out for quite a ways, most of it filled with farmland with the occasional house standing in various places all the way back until the trees started again and a great peak of jade colored forests rose up beyond the village.

  For all the people moving about the village, it would have been easy to see Erik standing there, but no alarms went up as he would have expected with the village this close to Tarthun lands. In fact, no one seemed to pay him any mind at all, though he was no more than a stone’s throw away from the wall.

  “I didn’t find any guards when I was up here scouting ahead,” Jaleal commented.

  “Then I guess we just go in,” Erik said. They moved forward at a steady pace, taking in the sights and maintaining their vigilance, just in case there were unseen scouts or guards somewhere watching them. They needn’t have worried about it. They walked beyond several houses and fields before anyone took notice of them.

  A stout, thick man with a well-weathered face and a gray goatee approached them. He smiled kindly and removed the large hat of straw from his head.

  “Common Tongue?” he questioned before greeting them.

  Erik nodded.

  “I am Fischer. Welcome to our village. May I provide you with water, or food perhaps? You must be a long way from your home, lad.”

  It was the word lad that caught Erik off guard. He couldn’t tell if Fischer had failed to notice the large sword hanging from his hip, or if he was simply so hospitable that he didn’t care about the weapon or the fact that a gnome was traveling with him. Surely he would have been received very differently in any city within the Middle Kingdom.

  “I am looking for the Immortal Mystic,” Erik replied evenly. “I was told he could be found here.”

  Fischer’s smile widened and he fidgeted with his hat. “What business do you have with him, if I may ask?”

  Erik looked down to Jaleal, but the gnome just shrugged.

  “I look for a way to destroy Nagar’s Secret, as well as a few other answers.”

  “Let him enter,” a voice rang out through the air. “I have been waiting for him for a long time.”

  Erik startled and his hand instinctively went toward his sword, but he stopped himself. Jaleal whispered something, but Erik didn’t hear it. There, in the center of the village appeared a great spire or marble and glass. It shone in the sunlight like a grand spear of mithril, in fact, it shone more brightly that Jaleal’s spear. A golden door at the base opened and out walked two women in white robes. Each had long, brown hair braided with golden bands hanging over their right shoulder. They motioned for Erik to follow them.

  “You will find what you are looking for in there,” Fischer said.

  Erik nodded and he walked toward the tower. Jaleal was quick to keep pace with him. They approached the two women and stopped in front of them.

  “I am Delfin, and this is Adori,” the one on the left said as she motioned to the woman beside her. “We are twins, and we are the guardians of this village.”

  “Guardians?” Jaleal asked under his breath.

  “You are sorceresses then?” Erik asked.

  Delfin smiled and shook her head. Her lips curled up into a tight smile that pointed toward her prominent cheek bones. “We are Sahale.” At once they both turned and folded their ears to allow Erik to see the mark.

  “We are like you,” Adori put in as she motioned with her angular chin to Erik. “You may rest now. Go inside and up the stairs to the upper chamber. We will keep watch as always, and no enemies shall find you here.”

  “You know of my enemies?” Erik asked.

  The twins smiled, but instead of answering they stepped out of the way and motioned toward the door. Erik felt no evil emanating from them, so he did as they asked. He and Jaleal walked inside the tower and stopped to look at a bizarre, pink and white crystal spinning in the air before them. It hung freely in the center of the tower, easily the size of a large oak tree, twirling slowly and humming low. An inviting, comforting warmth radiated out from the crystal.

  “Up the stairs to your right,” Delfin said from behind. The door closed then, with the twins still outside. Erik moved to the stairs that jutted out from the wall and spiraled up the tower. Each step was made of highly polished white marble, and the bannister was constructed of gold.

  “Come up,” a voice coaxed from above.

  Erik looked up to see that the stairs spiraled up for a dizzyingly long stretch. Still, he moved to the first step and began his ascent. As he circled around the crystal in the center of the tower he watched it spin. As he did so he almost became entranced by it. That is, until he caught himself nearly leaning over the bannister to get closer to it. Then he shook it off and continued up the stairs, doubling his pace and hurrying to the top.

  Once at the top landing the stairs emptied into a narrow hallway of marble stone. The walls were plain, yet they were brilliant and smooth, reflecting the ambient light from the chamber below as clearly as if sconces hung upon the walls. A simple door of natural, unstained wood closed the hallway from the chamber beyond. Erik moved forward and gr
abbed the wooden knob. He turned it and gently pressed the door open.

  Intense, hot light blinded him and forced him to turn his eyes away. Even Jaleal had to shield his face. After a moment Erik’s eyes adjusted and he stepped into the room. A chandelier of crystal hung from a golden chain in the middle of the chamber. Each crystal glowed bright, and hummed like the large crystal below, but at a higher frequency than the large one. In the room stood a series of bookshelves carved of stone. Each shelf was filled with books of different colors and sizes. Many small tables of beautiful cherry wood stood situated next to some of the shelves. In the center of the room was a large chair behind a desk of pink granite. Small flecks of crystal sparkled within the granite and lent a regal touch to the entire chamber.

  “Hello?” Erik said as he looked around the room. He saw no person, nor did he see any additional doors.

  “Above you, young one,” answered the voice.

  Erik looked up, and only now realized that the bookshelves rose several stories up into the tower. A man in a white robe descended, floating gracefully upon a blue circular stone. In his hands was a large book, the pages fluttering as he came down to stand before Erik.

  The man wore a long, gray beard that came over his stomach. A pair of sparkling blue eyes sat behind a thin-rimmed pair of glasses. His hair was as long as his beard, but neatly groomed. He narrowed his eyes on Erik and the thick, white brows pinched in close together.

  “So you are the Champion of Truth then?” the man asked. He eyed Erik from head to toe and then arched a suspicious brow.

  Erik nodded, not even questioning how the mystic had known to expect him.

  The man closed the book in his hands and stepped off from the blue stone. He held out the book at shoulder level and the blue stone rose up to take it from his hand and carry it to a table nearby. The man wrinkled his nose and then peered around Erik to look at Jaleal.