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

by Scheppner, Carey

  “Nice shooting, Olag!” said Kazin, noticing the skink warrior as he applied another arrow to his bow.

  Olag hissed. “We are not out of the woods yet.” He pointed. Another black thing hurtled into view, larger than the first. The skink warrior fired two arrows into the creature’s front side and it shrieked like the first, flapping past them and into the mist.

  “Let’s hurry!” interrupted Sherman from behind. “There may be more!”

  “Good idea,” hissed Olag. “I didn’t bring that many arrows!”

  They started forward, faster this time, and all went well until the minotaur growled and stopped.

  Olag, following closely, bumped into the huge beast and grunted.

  Kazin looked ahead and in a hushed voice asked, “What is it?”

  “Something comes,” said Zylor. Being stopped they could feel the vibrations of someone or something approaching.

  A large figure appeared on the bridge ahead of them. It looked like a zombie.

  Zylor surged forward to meet its attack. The creature screamed as the huge beast sliced into it with his large axe. Spurred by the cry, the winged creatures swooped down on them once more.

  Kazin hastily erected a shield above them just in time to prevent the winged creatures from knocking them off the bridge.

  A cry from behind alerted the others of an attack from behind. Harran battled with another zombie. It was followed by several others. Sherman helped the dwarf when he could, his Sword of Dead killing the creatures on contact.

  Meanwhile, Zylor battled a continuous flow of zombies on his own.

  Kazin frantically looked back and forth and up. They were hemmed in on all sides. The voice in his mind laughed again but he shook it off. The burning in his stomach returned with full force and he doubled over in pain. His concentration wavered and so did the shield.

  Two of the winged creatures broke through and Olag responded, firing an arrow into each one. One fell immediately, an arrow protruding from its eye. It fell, screaming for a long time before disappearing into the mist far below the crosswalk. The other one was just clipped in the wing and succeeded in knocking Sherman off balance.

  The warrior frantically grasped in vain at the rope railing and would have fallen over the edge if the wood beneath one of his feet hadn’t given way just then. His leg slid through the bridge up to his knee and he struggled to free himself. Kazin recovered and sprang to his friend’s aid, ignoring the wrenching pain he felt inside.

  By now the crosswalk was jiggling and wobbling hazardously, its occupants fighting for balance as much as each other.

  Zylor roared in fury, throwing a dead zombie out into the mist.

  “We’re trapped!” yelled Olag, firing some more arrows at the flying creatures.

  Kazin rose resolutely. The fire inside was almost overwhelming and the laughter in his mind was unnerving. He raised his staff and recreated the shield, causing the flying things to smash into an invisible barrier with heavy thumps. Several of them fell into the mists below, unconscious.

  While Zylor was bent over trying to move another dead zombie entangled in the bridge, and Olag was preparing his bow off to the side, the mage pointed his staff at the zombies bearing down on them and chanted his favourite spell. A searing blue lightning bolt surged into the zombie in front and flowed into several more behind it. They burst into fierce flames and were destroyed within seconds. The only remains were their ashes, which trickled lightly between the planks into the endless mists below. Kazin stared in shock at the impossible thing he had just done. Was his spell really that powerful against undead? There was no time to debate the matter.

  Zylor threw the dead zombie over the edge and looked back at Kazin in surprise. He gave the mage a curt nod of respect, his amulet flashing briefly in the light.

  This gave Kazin an idea. He cast an armour spell on the minotaur and the amulet flared.

  Zylor was too busy to notice, taking a couple of large strides to meet the advancing zombies. They needed to gain ground to get out of this predicament. They had to push forward.

  Kazin was glad the minotaur understood this. He turned his attention to the back and was surprised to see the others at his side, ready to move on. Behind them, a pile of tangled bodies provided a temporary barrier to hold off the zombies from the rear.

  “It’ll give us some time,” explained Harran. “Let’s go!”

  They staggered on the wavering bridge and caught up with Olag just as he let his last arrow fly. He had run beyond the protection of the shield to give Zylor cover from above. A winged creature fell, screaming.

  “That does it,” yelled Olag. “No more arrows!”

  Kazin pushed him after the minotaur. “They won’t hurt us as long as I hold our shield over us!”

  They caught up with the minotaur and, with a combination of magic and steel, they pushed back the throngs of zombies. Twice more they were attacked from behind, but each time the dead bodies created a barrier to slow the enemy down.

  Finally they reached the far side of the crosswalk, and before them stood a golden door on a small ledge, identical to the one they had left behind on the other side. They finished off the zombies on the ledge and stopped to catch their breath. The flying things circled out of range, crying shrilly, but did not attack. They could not penetrate Kazin’s shield.

  “What?!” yelled Olag upon noticing the door. “We just went through all that to end up where we started?!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Kazin. “This is where we were supposed to go. That’s why there’s a door.”

  “And that’s where all the zombies must have come from!” hissed Olag.

  “Maybe,” said Kazin. “Then again, maybe not. The ones behind us came out of nowhere, too. They certainly didn’t come from the same place we did.”

  “Speaking of zombies,” said Sherman, “they’re coming from behind again.” They could see the bridge swaying and heard it creak with tension.

  Kazin sprang to the golden door and opened it the same way as the other one. Beyond, in the resulting opening, was a flickering of reddish light. Nothing threatening appeared.

  “Here goes,” said Kazin, stepping through the opening. The others followed quickly.

  After the mayhem they had just experienced, it was somewhat disconcerting to be standing in a comfortable study consisting of a couple of soft chairs, a cheerful fireplace, a study table littered with scraps of parchment, and, replacing the golden door behind them, a large bookshelf filled with books.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them sat a middle-aged, dark-haired black mage chanting a spell while in a trance.

  Gradually his chant died down and his eyes opened. Upon seeing them, his eyes widened. “It worked!” he whispered in awe. “But the images are so vivid! I’ve outdone myself this time!”

  The companions exchanged glances.

  The mage gasped.

  “We’re sorry for intruding—,” began Kazin. He never finished. The older mage’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted.

  Chapter 37

  The dark-haired mage groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked at the faces staring down at him.

  “Are you O.K.?” asked Kazin softly.

  The mage nodded and gulped, pulling himself upright. “I wasn’t prepared for this unexpected side effect of my spell.”

  Kazin looked at Sherman and then back again. “I don’t understand.”

  The mage shook his head and rose unsteadily to his feet. “You should not be here. I was merely summoning your images.”

  Kazin looked confused.

  “You cannot understand,” said the mage. He began to pace the study. “How could this have happened? I used the proper ingredients. The inflections were correct. I didn’t—.”

  “I’m sorr
y,” interrupted Kazin, “but would you mind telling us where we are and who you are?”

  The dark-haired mage spun around. “I can tell you nothing!” he snapped. “To do so could ruin history as it should be!”

  Kazin nodded. “Then we are in the past.”

  “Of course you are!” answered the mage angrily. He began pacing again, but stopped in mid-stride and spun around again. “How did you know?”

  “We were on a quest to go back in time—,” began Kazin.

  “You mean you came here on your own?” demanded the mage. “You weren’t summoned?”

  Kazin shrugged. “I guess so.”

  The mage shook his head. “Why would you do such a thing? You will destroy the balance. You will disturb the sands of time!”

  “That’s what the doorway said,” murmured Sherman.

  “Doorway? What doorway?” queried the mage.

  “The one we entered to go back in time,” said Kazin.

  The mage’s eyes widened. “How did you find it? It should be beyond the reach of mere mortals!”

  “The oracle guided us,” said Olag.

  “The oracle? What oracle? Don’t tell me oracles put you up to this?”

  “She told us we could find some answers here,” said Kazin.

  “Answers for what?” asked the mage. By now he was calming down and his eyes were sharp and penetrating. Then he straightened and eyed each of them in turn. “That’s it!” He scrambled to his desk and rifled through some pages. “Ah!” He picked up a pen and began scribbling.

  Then he looked up at Kazin and then eyed Sherman speculatively. “Guardian, show me your weapon.”

  “My name is—,” began Sherman.

  The mage held up a hand. “No names, please.”

  Sherman shrugged and complied, drawing out the Sword of Dead.

  The mage gasped. He rose and came forward slowly. “The Sword of Dead,” he whispered. He reached out and reverently touched the blade. Quietly he nodded. “I had foreseen this.”

  A shuffling noise at the end of the room diverted his attention. He looked and saw the dwarf, bending over some objects thrust into the corner. The light from a nearby torch glinted off his ice axe.

  “An ice axe!” exclaimed the mage excitedly. “I had no idea they would survive the test of time for so long!” He quickly shuffled over to his desk, sat down, and began writing again. He spoke as he wrote. “The mighty staff, the sword of dead, the frozen axe, and—,” he stopped and looked at the minotaur, who still stood statue-like by the bookshelf.

  Kazin gasped. “The horned head?” he completed, his voice barely a whisper.

  “The horned head,” mused the mage. “Yes, that’s it.” He started to write but stopped suddenly and looked at Kazin. “How did—?” His face reddened, visible even in the firelight.

  “You wrote the Book of Prophesy!” whispered Kazin in awe.

  Sherman gave a low whistle.

  “Where did you get this chain mail?” interrupted Harran. He wasn’t paying attention to the others behind him. He lifted a chain mail shirt and held it into the torchlight nearby.

  “That’s a gift from a dwarf whom I helped with a certain task,” said the mage distractedly. “In return for my services, he gave me the chain mail, stating it was an honourable gift. I have no use for it. You can have it if you wish.”

  “Won’t it interfere with history?” asked Harran.

  The mage snorted. “Not likely. The dwarf who gave it to me became king. That chain mail belonged to him while he was still among the king’s elite guard.”

  “A guard became king?” asked Harran in disbelief.

  “Yes,” said the mage. “History should tell you all about how Hagen Ironfaust overthrew the Hammarschists because that king wouldn’t listen to reason and accept humans as a new race into the land.”

  “You mean this belonged to Hagen Ironfaust?!” exclaimed Harran in astonishment.

  “Yes,” answered the mage. “See that crest on the shoulder pad? It depicts the dwarf’s name and rank.”

  “I don’t believe it,” murmured Harran.

  “Don’t you have history books?” asked the mage.

  “Yes,” said Harran. “But none mention Hagen’s origins.”

  “That’s odd,” said the mage. “Do any of your history books mention what happened to the former king and his family?”

  “No.”

  “It might interest you to know that he and his family were not killed but instead were driven deep into the mountains. It is said that the king’s descendants were thereby endowed with a considerably enhanced ability to know exactly where they were in relation to the mountains, despite being deep inside of them. A sixth sense, as it were.”

  Harran’s jaw dropped.

  “Enough of history,” continued the mage. “Where was I? Oh yes.” His sharp eyes penetrated Kazin’s. “You have read the Book of Prophesy, I presume?”

  “Not exactly,” said Kazin.

  The dark-haired mage tilted his head. “Go on.”

  “Well,” began Kazin, “the Book of Prophesy has a habit of disappearing. First, it was stolen from the Black Tower, and then it was burned by a dragon. I was sent to borrow a copy from the White Tower but it was stolen too. I am presently on my way to find the one stored at the Grey Tower and bring it back to the Black Tower for study. It is needed to help determine the outcome of the war that is presently threatening the land.”

  The mage rose angrily. “You mean there are only three copies of my Book of Prophesy?! After all the years of work I put into it? The fools!” He began pacing the study furiously. “Very well,” he said finally. “History be damned.” He sat down and hastily scribbled a note on a scrap piece of parchment, handing it to Kazin when he was finished.

  “If you fail to find the remaining copy of my book,” said the mage, “study this note. It will lead you to a copy I will hide in a safe place when it is completed. My book must survive or my life has been a waste.” He smiled. “My wife, may her soul rest in peace, will be pleased to know that she will be given a chance to take part in an important part of history.”

  “Thank you,” said Kazin, taking the note and placing it carefully inside a concealed pocket in his robe.

  “I must give you one warning,” continued the mage. “Do not read the note unless it is absolutely necessary. If you find that it is not needed, destroy it. I don’t want it to get into the wrong hands, especially with all the thieves in your time. If you need it, it would be best if you memorized it and then destroyed it immediately afterward.”

  Kazin nodded solemnly.

  The mage returned to his desk and looked over the companions once more. He studied each of them carefully. His eyes stopped on Olag. “What manner of creature are you? I have travelled to the ends of this land often but have never encountered a creature of like countenance.”

  “I’m a skink warrior,” said Olag. “My kind probably doesn’t exist in your time. We were initially transformed into skink warriors by our fellow lizardmen.” He hesitated. “It’s a long story.”

  The mage nodded. “It is odd to find a lizardman working together with other races.”

  “We are different from our brethren not only in appearance,” said Olag.

  The mage nodded again. “Apparently.” He looked around and queried, “Are there no others? I had summoned the images of eight.”

  Kazin shook his head. “No. Just us.”

  “Odd,” said the mage. “I shall have to be more careful with my summoning spells.” He looked up. “I must send you to your own time soon. Ask what questions you will, though I fear I may have said too much already. History is not to be trifled with.”

  “Do we have to cross that—that crosswalk again?” asked Sherman. He was reluctant to go a
cross the endless heights again.

  “I’m afraid so,” said the mage. “However, I have crossed it many times in the past to learn what I could for my book. It is not as difficult as it seems.”

  “That’s an awfully dangerous way to learn about the future,” commented Kazin.

  The other mage nodded. “I know. I didn’t much relish the idea of risking my life each time, either. A few years ago I learned some summoning spells and have been using them as an alternative. Summoning doesn’t always give the results in true detail like going there physically, but it is sufficient.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a talisman on a chain. “This talisman was given me by my wife. Without it, my summoning of images of the future would not be strong enough.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of changing the future by writing about it?” asked Kazin.

  “No,” said the mage. “You see, by writing vaguely in the form of rhyme, not many can interpret the correct meaning. The meaning often only becomes apparent after the event has occurred.”

  “Then why bother?” asked Sherman.

  “People have to be warned to prepare for the worst,” said the mage, “even if they don’t know exactly what to prepare for. Those who heed my words will be ready for the worst. Look at yourselves. You are looking for those very words to help explain what is going on around you, even if you don’t fully understand them.”

  “Do you go through time anymore?” asked Harran.

  “No.”

  “Then do you know what lurks in that place?” continued the dwarf.

  “Yes,” said the mage. “There are zombies and giant flying things like bats.”

  “Why are they there?” asked Kazin.

  “The zombies are the fouled bodies of those whose deaths came untimely,” explained the mage. “They are the ones who are not satisfied with their early demise. Their ambition is to seize the bodies of those who are traveling the time line and go into the past to change their own fate.”

  “You mean they weren’t trying to kill us?” asked Sherman. “They were only trying to take our bodies?”