Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy

by Scheppner, Carey

  He remained like this for some time before becoming aware of a hissing sound. He looked up to where the dragon was sealed in ice and it took him a moment to realize it was still alive. Apparently Filbar had dropped his shield and was melting the ice from the inside.

  Kazin lowered Max to the floor and rose. Slowly he worked his way around the trapped dragon, trying to locate the spot where Filbar would emerge. He came across Sandor’s twisted body and checked his pulse. He was still alive. Kazin looked down at the old mage in disgust. Sandor was a traitor; that much he knew now. He would have a lot of explaining to do back at the tower.

  There was another hiss and Kazin could see some steam emerge from the side of the dragon’s temporary prison. He climbed the golden mound to this location and waited. There were a few more blasts of steam and the ice began to melt. Within moments a large hole appeared. The dragon, upon seeing Kazin, immediately blew a powerful blast of flame in his direction. Kazin’s shield protected him effectively. The dragon tried again but this time only steam came out of his mouth.

  Without changing expression, Kazin calmly lowered his shield.

  The dragon looked at the mage and blinked. Suddenly Filbar’s eyes opened wide. “No! It can’t be! You!” He quickly raised his shield. “You’ll never kill me! My shield is too strong!”

  Kazin didn’t know what Filbar was talking about. He didn’t care. Calmly, he raised his staff and pointed it at the dragon. If he had to use every ounce of power in the staff, then so be it. He chanted a spell and added, “This is for Max.” A dark blue bolt shot from the staff, hitting the dragon’s shield squarely. It increased in brightness until it was white hot.

  The ice to the dragon’s side was still too tight for him to move. He couldn’t physically attack the mage. Filbar vainly attempted to blow his hot breath at the ice but his shield prevented him from succeeding. The dragon laughed shrilly. “A lightning bolt is related to fire. You can’t defeat me with a fire spell!”

  Kazin continued, perspiration beading his forehead. The staff’s magic was empty now. What magic there was came entirely from him.

  “You’ll burn yourself out before you penetrate my shield,” cried Filbar. “Surrender now and I’ll let you live!” Despite his words, the dragon appeared uncomfortable.

  Filbar’s shield shimmered with heat. The ice nearby continued to melt, running over Kazin’s ankles on its way down the golden slopes. Kazin sank to his knees. The point in the shield where Kazin’s bolt struck began to undulate. Finally it broke through.

  “Nooo!” shrieked Filbar. The bolt sizzled through the dragon’s belly and bounced off the back of the shield, repeatedly penetrating the dragon’s tough hide as it bounced around on the inside of the shield.

  Filbar dropped his shield and released the offending lightning bolt but it was too late. Blood gushed from at least a half dozen holes in his body. He threw the Book of Prophesy, which he clutched tightly until now, high into the air. Then he raised his head and wailed, giving one last blast of fiery breath before collapsing on top of his mound of wealth. The charred remains of the Book of Prophesy landed beside him, barely distinguishable.

  Kazin’s head spun. He staggered for a moment before collapsing himself and rolling down the dragon’s hoard to land in the puddles below.

  Chapter 17

  Kazin came to with a splitting headache. He was also chilled to the bone. It took him a moment to recall where he was. He glanced around. To his right was his dead companion. Above him lay the dragon, also dead. To his left he saw Sandor. The old mage was mumbling to himself.

  Kazin wearily rose from the wet floor and approached Sandor. Sandor was still mumbling but appeared to be unconscious. Kazin bent over and tried to wake him.

  Sandor opened his eyes. “Kazin? Is—is the dragon dead?”

  “Yes,” answered Kazin.

  “Good. Max?”

  “Dead,” said Kazin bitterly. “No thanks to you.”

  Sandor coughed. “I need you to get something for me.”

  “What do you want?” asked Kazin. He wasn’t sure if Sandor deserved anything anyway.

  “Bring me the orb,” said Sandor.

  “Why?”

  “I—it—maybe it can bring Max back to life.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Kazin.

  “Please!” begged Sandor. “It’s important. The prophesy says so.”

  Kazin hesitated. He looked at the orb in the alcove. It shimmered with a dark blue, green, and red swirling mixture. He rose to get a better view. Slowly, unthinkingly, he reached for it.

  Sandor stretched his neck to see, panting in expectation.

  Kazin grasped the orb gently and lifted it. There was a tingling sensation in his hand and he heard a faint laughing sound in his head. He attributed it to his imagination. Then a low rumble occurred overhead. Even Sandor heard that.

  Kazin looked into the orb and saw some fleeting images. There was an elf riding a centaur through a throng of undead soldiers, a shiny axe, and a bird’s eye view of a small town. The images were confusing.

  “Let me see! Let me see!” panted Sandor.

  Kazin held the orb out for Sandor to see. The colors swirled for a few more moments before suddenly vanishing, leaving the orb invisible to the eye.

  “No!” wailed Sandor. “It wasn’t for you! It was mine! I deserved it!” His eyes began to dart back and forth and froth appeared at his mouth. He began to rave; the frantic raving of a lunatic.

  Kazin sighed. He knew the orb was still in his hand. He could feel it. He searched for a place to put it and an idea occurred to him. He set it in the pronged holder atop his staff. It was a perfect fit. There was no way it could accidentally fall off.

  As soon as he sheathed his staff, there was another low rumbling noise. It grew louder and louder and small pebbles and then rocks began to fall from the ceiling. The cavern was beginning to cave in!

  Kazin looked helplessly to where his fallen comrade lay, half floating in the melted ice water. There was no time. He had to deal with the living first. As he bent over to drag Sandor to safety, he spotted a piece of parchment on the ground. He picked it up and put it into his pocket. He would have to read it later. Kazin picked up Sandor by the shoulders and dragged him to the cavern entrance. The boulders began to fall more heavily now, so the young mage was forced to create a shield to encompass both himself and Sandor.

  He thought momentarily of using a levitate spell, but it was a complicated spell and he couldn’t find the proper ingredients for the spell in his pockets anyway. He struggled with the demented mage, lifting and dragging, lifting and dragging.

  Finally he made it to the last stretch of tunnel. The rising sun was just shining into the tunnel’s opening. Kazin dragged Sandor the rest of the way out of the cave and sat down, exhausted.

  Suddenly the young mage heard footprints behind him and turned around. It was Rubin with a shipmate.

  “Kazin! Where’s Max?” asked Rubin, peering into the cave.

  “Dead,” said Kazin sadly.

  Rubin looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Kazin. I liked him too.”

  There was another loud rumble.

  “Give me a hand, Geldin,” ordered Rubin. “We have to bring these guys to safety!”

  The sailors threw the mages over their shoulders and ran to the rowboat. Within minutes they were in the water, rowing to the safety of the Lady of the Sea.

  Just as they were climbing aboard the schooner, there was a terrific booming noise. A wave of dust appeared from the entrance of the cave. When the dust settled, Filbar’s cave was no more.

  Kazin was feeling faint and Rubin helped him below. “Get some rest, me friend,” said Rubin gently. “Ye’ll feel better later on.”

  Kazin woke late in the afternoon. He heard a mumbling noise and looked at
Sandor’s bunk. Sandor was tossing and turning his head wildly and mumbling gibberish. No change there. He looked at Max’s empty bunk. The bunk’s vacancy was nothing compared to the empty feeling inside. Kazin had lost a good and trusted friend, perhaps needlessly. He looked at Sandor again. Finally he rose and went on deck. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the old mage.

  The wind was cool and refreshing and helped to ease Kazin’s sorrow. He stood at the stern, saying a silent goodbye to his friend. He knew he had to carry on without Max. No doubt there were many more dangers to face.

  There was another cold gust of wind and Kazin put his hands in his robe pockets. He felt paper—oh, yes. The paper from the cave.

  He drew out the sheet and read it. It went as follows:

  The Mighty Staff

  The Sword of Dead

  The Frozen Axe

  The Horned Head

  The Healing Hand

  The Dagger Throw

  The Eight Heroes

  This you must know!

  The Flying Fire

  The Arrow Straight

  The Swift of Hoof

  Don’t be too late!

  Kazin scratched his head. “This must be a page from the Book of Prophesy,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?” asked Rubin.

  Kazin whirled around. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Just got here,” said Rubin. “Wanted to see how you were doin’.”

  “Ok I guess,” answered Kazin. He shook his head sadly and re-examined the paper in his hands. “I found this piece of parchment in the cave. It looks like it might be from the Book of Prophesy.”

  “What’s it say?” asked Rubin.

  Kazin read it to him.

  “Hmm. Don’t make no sense to me.”

  “Me neither,” said Kazin.

  “What does make sense is puttin’ some food in your guts,” said Rubin. “Come on. Let’s see what Gerald’s got cookin’”

  “Probably pancakes,” said Kazin dryly.

  Rubin laughed and put his arm around Kazin’s shoulder. “You can count on it!”

  Grakath the necromancer sat in his study scrutinizing his layout for the mage academy. Two new dormitories were required to house the new applicants. Not only were there plenty of locals eager to learn the ways of magic, many came from abroad. Most of them were grey renegades, but some were failed black mages from the south. This pleased him. The more, the merrier. When he was ready to invade the paltry settlements to the south, he would have overwhelming forces. The powerful Tower of Sorcery would then be his to control. From there he could launch an assault against the old world using less than willing subjects—only they would be willing when the time came. With these newly loyal subjects as casualties, he could launch an assault without concern for his losses—not that he cared about them anyway, and with the strength of numbers on his side, his victory was inevitable.

  There was a hard, dry knock at his door.

  “Come.” Grakath had his back to the door but knew immediately who it was by the dry clacking of bones on the floor as the creature entered the room. “What is it, Nimbar?”

  There was a slight rattling as Nimbar adjusted his jaw with a skeletal hand. “Messages for you from Graf and the spy, milord.”

  Grakath sighed. Graf wasn’t supposed to contact him for another month and the spy was sending messages all too frequently. If his cover was blown, it would be very difficult to replace him at this time. Grakath turned and faced the undead messenger. The red eyes in the chalky white skull were fearful to look at but Grakath didn’t mind. It was only one of hundreds under his control. “What does the lizard want now?”

  “Graf sends his regards,” began Nimbar.

  “Skip the nonsense,” interrupted Grakath irritably. “Just give me the details.”

  The skeleton straightened. “Graf says the staff experiments are going well. The army is growing.”

  “Yeah, so?” said Grakath. “I expect no less. What’s the problem?”

  “Graf wishes you to send another staff.”

  “What for? He’s got twenty-five of them as it is.”

  “Apparently one has been damaged beyond repair.”

  “What?! How?”

  “Unknown, milord. Graf didn’t say.”

  Grakath slammed his fist down on the table. “The fool! If it was damaged, he should have said how! That’s the whole purpose of the testing! Anything else?”

  “No, milord.”

  Grakath growled. “Very well. Give the guild word to send another staff to Graf. Send a message with it. I need to know what happened to the damaged one. We need to prevent whatever it was from happening again!”

  “Yes, milord,” said Nimbar.

  “What’s the other message?” asked Grakath. “It better be good.”

  “Your contact reports that his quarry has driven off or killed his attackers and is holding refuge at his home among family. There is no evidence he will be leaving soon.”

  Grakath swore. “They were supposed to kill him! I offered more than enough gold!” The necromancer scratched his chin thoughtfully. “But perhaps this works out better. Hmm.” Grakath grabbed hold of a writing implement and a piece of parchment. After scribbling down some instructions, he handed it to the skeleton. “These are his new instructions. If this fails, I will hold him personally responsible.” Grakath grinned. “He may not be expendable at the moment, but things change. See to it that he gets this.”

  “Yes, milord. Will that be all?”

  “Yes. Dismissed.”

  The skeleton departed. Grakath’s grin vanished. There were so many things to worry about. For one thing the reception that night with the queen needed to be arranged. Damned nobles and their traditions! Unfortunately, he needed their support, and the only way to do that was to indulge them from time to time. That meant keeping the queen in form for not only the ceremony, but also the endless array of questions that would follow.

  As if being summoned, the queen entered his study. At first glance anyone seeing her was awed by her ageless beauty, long golden locks, and shiny royal attire. Even Grakath was constantly amazed by his creation. Unfortunately, the aura of beauty was marred when one looked into her eyes. They were dead. There was no other way to describe it. The whites and pupils were all there, as they should be, but the eyes were dead. Grakath had experimented long hours to try to fix that discrepancy, but with no result. He had given up trying. If anything was impossible, that was it.

  “There you are,” said the queen. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Grakath smiled. “What is it, my sweet?”

  “You said we could get a head start on my preparations for tonight. You know how you hate it when I’m not prepared.”

  “True, my dear, true. I was just going over plans to expand our mage academy. We have nearly doubled the applicants this year!”

  The queen smiled. “Excellent. This should bolster our forces greatly against the armies in the south. Maybe they will surrender right away. Then no blood will be lost.”

  “That is my hope,” lied Grakath, “but I don’t think that will happen. Not while the Tower of Sorcery still stands.”

  The queen frowned. “I hope you are wrong.”

  Grakath smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. “Now, now. Don’t upset yourself over such decisions. I will take care of everything. You know I will. Why don’t we go to your quarters and begin preparations?”

  The queen smiled, but, as usual, her eyes were dead.

  Part IV

  Item of Extreme Rarity

  Chapter 18

  Kazin stood by a window in the Tower of the Stars overlooking the sea to the south. In the distance he could just make out the islands of Ten Star Ree
f. The islands were a good day’s travel by sea, but the height of the tower on the edge of the mountains enabled an amazing view. This tower was more than five times higher than the Tower of Sorcery, and its positioning atop the southern edge of the mountains gave it a commanding view of the sea to the south and east. Anyone approaching would be seen long before they arrived in the vast port far below. Several ships were just leaving and some of them looked like they were full of soldiers in their shiny armour. Perhaps they were being sent to support the garrisons in the north.

  Star City itself lay at the south-western base of the mountains. Beyond that to the west, the landscape was dotted with large tracts of agricultural land, separated by roads leading to the trade centres concentrated in the hub of the city. Between the city and the tower was a residential section where the wealthier nobles and merchants resided. This city was the largest Kazin had ever seen, larger even than Arral.

  Kazin turned to the sound of the door opening behind him. A master mage with a black cloak identical to his own, entered. He had wavy black hair and appeared to be slightly overweight.

  “I made contact with the Tower of Sorcery and gave Arch Mage Krendal a report on your situation. He wishes to speak with you now.”

  Kazin nodded and followed the master mage out of the room and into a central chamber with no windows. The only source of light came from a large white orb on an ordinary wooden table. The master mage gestured Kazin to sit in the lone chair in front of the orb. As soon as Kazin sat down, the orb shimmered for a moment and suddenly Arch Mage Krendal’s face appeared within.

  Krendal stared earnestly at Kazin before speaking. “Benjamin has given me a brief report on your so-called mission, Kazin. The Tower did not arrange or support this mission in any way. Sandor was acting entirely on his own. As a result, we lost a valuable mage and you a good friend. I’m sorry it ended as it did. Thank goodness you’re still alive.” Krendal’s expression lightened. “Are you well enough to travel?”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered Kazin.

  “Good. These are your instructions. First, you are to remove all of Sandor’s magical items and put them in a travel pack, including his staff. They are to be returned to the Tower of Sorcery and held here for safe keeping. We don’t need the demented mage to cause more trouble than he already has. Also, be sure to do a spell check to make sure there is no warding on any of his magical items! Sandor himself will remain in the Tower of the Stars in care of the clerics stationed there. They can deal with him far better than we can.