The Tomes Of Magic

by Cody J. Sherer

  “Even so, I do believe we can assist one another,” Septimus said as he extended his hand to Cassandra.

  *

  Sev unsheathed his long sword and joined Borfin at the front lines. The Dwarven Honorguard, a remnant of the dwarven army that had been cut off from the main dwarven strongholds, had joined up with the elves earlier that month. With Sev and Borfin at the head of their forces, the unified army of elves and dwarves had made significant progress against the orcs. The Old Forest had been cleared of orcs, goblins, and even trolls. Their task now brought them to the entrance of the cave system that held the dwarven strongholds as well as numerous orcs and goblins camps. The brunt of the workload would shift to the dwarves now. Elves, though proficient in nearly any climate, preferred to fight in the forests where they had lived for centuries. Their newly forged alliance with the dwarves even the odds when it came to subterranean fighting.

  The half-elf looked forward to seeing the dwarves in action in the caverns. He had heard the tales of how dwarves had faced off against armies significantly more powerful than their own and had come away victorious. Many of the tales seemed to be stretching the truth, but the Ranger had no doubt that his dwarven companions were fierce combatants. He had seen them in action in the forests and they had not disappointed him. Their goal was a simple one, punch a hole through the orc forces and meet up with whatever remained of the dwarven kingdoms. Borfin had expressed on more than one occasion that he felt it would be simple once they had reunited with the rest of the dwarves. Sev disagreed, but dared not openly speak of it to the dwarf.

  “We must be wary of an ambush, the crossroads would be the perfect spot for it,” Sev said as they approached the entrance to the network of underground tunnels.

  “Orcs are nigh as good at tunneling as we. There is a good chance that we will find many an ambush spot in our journey. Let us hope their focus is on attack and not defense,” Borfin replied.

  “Let us hope that we can find these orcs before they engage the dwarven kingdoms or Ector and his men.”

  “It isn’t often that you hear somebody wishing that they were attacked instead of an Archwizard.”

  “Ector is powerful, but he is no warrior, my friend.”

  The half-elf didn’t wait for a reply as entered the caverns. His eyes adjusted to the dark almost immediately. It made him wonder about the words a Warlock had spoken to him once. Perhaps magic is more complicated than any of us know, he thought as he crept closer to the crossroads. If the orcs were waiting in ambush, they had masked their scent and were being much quieter than the norm. Yet, Sev remained unconvinced. Borfin and the dwarves strode forward, confident that they could defeat any orc they set eyes upon. The elves, being rather skeptical of their dwarven allies, looked to Sev for guidance. He gripped his sword tighter as he picked up his pace and overtook the dwarves. As he reached the first crossroads, he rolled forward and then pulled out his short sword. His assumption had proved to be true. The orcs were waiting in ambush and several of them unleashed spears and arrows at him the moment he came into view. His roll allowed him to dodge the already unskilled ranged attacks of the orcs.

  Several orcs ran forward to attack him as he came out of the roll. He spun to his left and dug his short sword into the nearest orc’s calf. Another orc fell to a thrust from his long sword. The half-elf turned and backpedaled several feet. Orcs and goblins were quickly rushing toward him. His plan was working well, but it still required his allies to recognize that the enemy had left their flank open. He had no doubt that the elves would spring into action immediately, but their numbers might not be sufficient to take down the whole force of the enemy. His thoughts were interrupted as the first of the goblins got within range to attack him. It lashed out with its short spear and he easily deflected it to the side. Instincts took over as the half-elf counterattacked with near blinding speed. He darted to and fro, slicing and stabbing every orc and goblin that left an opening. His adrenaline pumped faster as more enemies closed in on him. Both his swords worked in unison as he fought off the advancing opponents. With every enemy felled, another popped up in its place. As the battle raged on, his foes seemed to start moving in slow-motion.

  The elves joined Sev in the fray as their dwarven allies crushed the remaining ranged attackers. Borfin ordered his men to mop up any survivors that were trying to flee from the ensuing bloodbath. It was a quick skirmish that ended in the destruction of the entire orcish ambush party. Sev stood in the midst of his allies, panting as he sheathed his sword. The world around him quickly returned to its normal pace as both the elves and dwarves began checking for dead and wounded. Much to their surprise, there were no friendly casualties. The elves and dwarves stared at Sev in awe when they discovered this revelation. He grinned and returned their stares with a look of confusion. They’ve seen me fight before, he thought, this should be no real surprise for them. Borfin joined him and waited for the others to disburse before speaking.

  “What was that?” The dwarf asked.

  “I suspected that they might have had a shaman covering their ambush.” Sev replied.

  “So you turned into a whirlwind of cold steel?”

  “I’m not much faster than most of these elves.”

  “Not much faster? We thought there weren’t going to be any enemies left by the time we reached you. If all of your troops were even close to being that fast, you’d have emptied the Old Forest of foes a long time ago. Listen, lad, there was something very not normal about all this. If I could, I’d ask the Archwizard Council about this. Maybe Ector will know what to do.”

  Sev nodded, he knew better than to bring up the Wizards to Borfin. Cormac’s disappearance had hit the dwarf hard, harder than any of the other losses the dwarves had sustained. Ector had tried to cheer up the dwarf, but Borfin would have none of it. The half-elf looked down at the fallen enemies as his dwarven companion walked off toward his troops. His eyes quickly picked up on the differences between his kills and the kills scored by others. Calling it deadly precision was an understatement. The best elves boasted about hitting vital areas about fifty percent of the time. Sev was having trouble finding any of his hits that had missed crippling or killing his opponents. A shiver ran down his spine as he surveyed the brutal efficiency with which he had downed so many orcs and goblins.

  “Let’s move, we aren’t finished with our task,” he said as he shook off any lingering feelings.

  Dwarves and elves alike jumped to follow his command. The Ranger couldn’t tell if it was a newfound respect or fear that caused them to comply quicker than usual. It bothered him that the others were looking at him as if he were some kind of emotionless killing machine. I don’t feel any different, he thought as he led the crew down the wide cavern. The next crossroad was less than one-hundred feet away, but somehow Sev knew that this one would be empty. He continued walking forward as the others slowed their pace in anticipation of an ambush. They had to quicken their pace to a near run to catch up to him. Borfin joined him at the head of the company and served as the navigator for the group. After several forks in their path, the dwarf ordered the company to halt. He pulled Sev aside so that they could speak in private.

  “We’ve reached dwarven territory, they should have had sentries posted,” the dwarf said with a hint of worry in his voice.

  “It is likely they had to retreat further into the mountains. Are there any places the dwarves would retreat to in times of trouble?” Sev asked.

  “There is one such place.”

  *

  Bartholomew placed a jewel encrusted dagger on the table next to the parchment. He watched as the leader of the Swords of Justice, a man named Zeltos, picked up the parchment and studied it. The man slowly picked up the dagger and examined it before sliding it into an empty sheath on his belt. He looked back down at the parchment and read it one last time before crumpling it up and throwing it in the fire. The Grand Cleric watched as he walked back across the room and swung open the door. His men were waitin
g outside, but he knew better than to discuss the mission in the open. They fell in line as he took off down the corridor that led to their quarters. Even the battle-hardened Holy Order troops gave Zeltos and his men a wide berth. Though few of them were taller than six feet and many of them had smaller frames, they commanded the respect of those around them. Their exploits were well-known throughout the Holy Order. Especially those of Zeltos, whom they called the Hidden Blade. He had often chalked it up to his attire, but the Swords of Justice insisted that it was his deeds that earned him the title.

  He entered the room first and took his place at opposite end of the table that sat in the middle of the room. The others poured in and found their seats, quickly filling up the round table. Those gathered had come from many walks of life, but all of them swore to serve the Holy Order. The Swords of Justice were chosen based on a proficiency in stealth. Out of the twenty members of the group, fifteen could have just as easily joined the Rangers of the Old Forest, but chose the Holy Order instead. Another four were reformed thieves, used for spying and stealing. Zeltos was the lone assassin of the group. More often than not, it was his blade that completed missions for the Holy Order. They were a tightknit group, which many of the Holy Order attributed to their less than reputable methods. Gareth had been slow to call upon their services, but under Bartholomew they thrived.

  “As many of you know, we’ve been asked to disrupt the dragonwizards rule. The Grand Cleric has left it up to us as to how we will accomplish this task. I want to hear your opinions on the matter,” the assassin opened the discussion up to his group as he often did.

  “We should cater to our strengths. Most of us would be more effective ambushing caravans. The others can gather dirt on some of the sympathetic mayors and governors to use as blackmail. You can assassinate those who fail to bend to the will of the light,” Kergan, a former Ranger, answered.

  “A sound plan. Unfortunately, I cannot assist you in this. My mission is to assassinate the King of Cardinia and, if possible, make it look like the Sardinian King was involved,” Zeltos placed the jeweled dagger on the table as he spoke.

  “Kergan’s idea is still a good one. We can blackmail the local rulers into turning on the dragonwizards. The others can draw attention away from us by attacking the caravans like he proposed,” Amy, one of the spies, said.

  “It is decided then. Amy shall lead the four of you in this gathering of intelligence and Kergan will lead strikes against their caravans. If at any point in time the dragonwizards catch on to your schemes, move to another location within their kingdoms. With the war brewing, we should be able to disrupt at least three or four counties before they catch on. No unnecessary risks,” the assassin stood as he spoke.

  *

  Serith, one of the few Crusaders of the Holy Order, held her ground as the ogres came rushing toward her. Though her troops and the Barbarians had plenty of experience against the ogres, they had lost their nerve when they saw the charge. She could hardly blame them. Since their arrival in the north, seventy-five out of the hundred soldiers had been slain in battle. Their Barbarian allies had lost even more men. None of that bothered Serith. She had been tasked with purging the Barbarian lands of ogres and she would accomplish that feat or die trying. Two of the ogres broke free from the pack and attacked first. She ducked under their attacks and rammed her shield against the knee of the ogre on her left side. It stumbled forward, leaving an opening. She leaped up and thrust her sword into the ogre’s back. As the beast crashed to the floor, she pulled out the sword and sprung at the second ogre. It tried to hit her with a fist, but she dug her sword into the oncoming forearm.

  The ogre yelled in pain as she yanked the sword out and stabbed it in the kneecap. She spun to face the remaining ogres and was pleasantly surprised to see that several of her comrades had joined her. They took out two of the oncoming ogres, leaving one for her. It was still moving at a quick rate when she slid by and sliced at the back of its calf. The ogre crashed to the ground and one of the Holy Order soldiers finished it off. Several Barbarians joined the fray when they saw that there was a chance of holding off the ogres. Serith took the lead and charged toward the remaining ten ogres. She bashed the closest with her shield before spinning to the side and stabbing another in the gut. Her soldiers and the Barbarians each engaged three ogres, leaving the final ogre for her to deal with. It was slightly taller than the others and significantly stronger looking. She lunged at the leader with her sword, but it jumped backward. The ogre smiled as it whipped its club around at her head. She ducked, narrowly missing the weapon, and rolled forward. Her opponent attempted to kick her, but she brought her shield up in time to stop the attack.

  She thrust her sword into the snow and braced the shield with both of her arms. The bottom of the shield was planted against the ground and the ogre was pressing down on the middle of it. She grunted as she shoved with all her might. The ogre toppled over backward and hit the ground with a resounding crash. She grabbed her sword before springing to her feet. Her opponent tried to get back up, but was too dazed to move fast enough. She closed in the distance and drove her sword through the ogre’s chest. It stopped thrashing and she removed the sword. Holy Order soldiers and Barbarians alike were staring in awe at her accomplishment. She sheathed her sword and ordered the troops to form up. Their main objective was the ogre outpost somewhere in the wintry lands of the north. Neither her scouts nor the Barbarians knew the exact location, but the increase in ogre sightings was a sign that they were getting closer.

  “Gather the troops, we rest for the day and then move out in the morning. I want everyone to be prepared for a fight tomorrow. We don’t know what we are up against, but the last thing we need is to be caught unprepared,” she said as she walked back into the makeshift camp.

  *

  Ector dismounted from his horse as he got to the cave entrance. Sev’s directions had been perfect, but the cavern was still difficult to find. The Archwizard signaled for the others to dismount as he peered into the darkness. He gripped his staff tighter and his eyes began to glow. The depths of the cavern were easy to see as the spell began to take over. His men joined him at the entrance and their eyes started to glow as well. Ector looked back at his men to ensure that he hadn’t missed any of them with his spell. They warily entered the cave, half expecting an attack. The elves soon found that the entrance was as deserted as it had first seemed. Where did he find a cave like this? Ector wondered as they continued further into the cave. This part of the caverns looked as though it had not been used in years.

  “Be wary of what may lie ahead,” Ector said, using his magic to shield his voice from anything that could be lurking.

  The elves nodded as they followed the Archwizard deeper into the cave. Ector pulled out the map that Borfin had given him. It didn’t have the branch that they were currently in, but it provided details on where to go once they reached the main artery. The band of elves slowly made their way further along until they reached a crossroad. A foul smell wafted down the tunnel and soon after they heard voices. Ector readied his staff and rounded the corner. There was a small camp of orcs and goblins. They were arguing about whose turn it was to take watch. The Archwizard thrust his staff forward and a bright light appeared in the midst of their camp. Orcs and goblins alike began scurrying about in fear. Ector and his men descended upon the small camp and quickly dispatched the enemies. He created holes in the ground to swallow up the few that had managed to escape the battle.

  “Let’s move, the dwarves will be waiting.”

  *

  Leoth grunted as the wooden training sword struck his ribs. Cassandra smiled and winked at him before launching into her next attack. She had insisted that if he wanted to claim the title of Emperor, he need to act like one. His trusted hammer was traded in for an elegant sword. It didn’t stop there. She also forced him to wear clothes befitting of an Emperor as well as act like one. It seems as though she has been waiting for all this to happen, he thought as
he parried one of her strikes. The sword felt strange in his hands, though it was much better than the one she had tried to get him to use originally. This sword had a considerable amount of heft to it and many a weaker man would have required two hands to wield it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his wife enjoyed watching him struggle to master the sword. It didn’t help that she was using a training sword while he was wielding a real one. Septimus entered the training area and cleared his throat.

  “I hate to interrupt, but I need to get my hands on one of those tomes,” he said, ignoring the troubles that Leoth was facing with his sword training.

  “Now is really not a good time, Warlock!” Leoth snapped at Septimus.

  Cassandra used his momentary lapse to strike another blow with the training sword. The Emperor-in-training dropped his sword and stormed out of the room. He nearly smashed one of the mirrors in the room when he saw how ridiculous he looked in the clothes his wife had encouraged him to wear. How can she expect me to change after all these years? he asked himself as he began to take off the puffed up shirt. The door swung open and he stopped unbuttoning his shirt. He turned to face whoever was interrupting him. His anger waned slightly when he saw Cassandra with a worried look on her face. It was one of those times when his stubbornness wanted to put up a fight, but his heart wanted to reach out to his wife. She recognized the look on his face and ran over to hug him. He pulled back slightly so that he could address her more easily.

  “What is the matter, my dear?” He asked.

  “I was not treating you kindly,” she answered.

  “You wounded my pride, nothing more. My pride could use a shrinking at times.”

  “It isn’t that, love. I made a promise to myself a long time ago. Whenever they would push me too far in training me to be a noble, I would tell myself that I would never be that way. I broke that promise to today.” She turned away and covered her face after speaking.